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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

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Hello! So, I mean, this might be out of the blue, ambiguous and crazy to answer (but it's something I think about a lot, and you touched upon it in a previous ask and would love your further perspective on!) but let's say, at the end of The Return of The King, Grima lived! What do you personally think his journey and path would look like from there?

Grima asks are never out of the blue - I always want them <3 Thank you so much for asking!!

man ok - well Grima at the end of ROTK is in a really dark place. Frodo, Gandalf et al first run into Grima and Saruman on the road near the misty mountains as the make their slow return journey from Gondor.

As they (Frodo, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf) came out again into the open country at sundown they overtook an old man leaning on a staff, and he was clothed in rags of grey or dirty white, and at his heels went another beggar, slouching and whining.

[...]

‘Get up you idiot!’ he (Saruman) shouted to the other beggar, who had sat down on the ground; and he struck him with his staff. ‘Turn about! If these fine folk are going our way, then we will take another. Get on, or I’ll give you no crust for your supper!’

The beggar turned and slouched past whimpering: ‘Poor old Grima! Poor old Grima! Always beaten and cursed. How I hate him! I wish I could leave him!’

‘Then leave him!’ said Gandalf.

a man who has never been in an abusive situation in his life, clearly.

‘One thief deserves another,’ said Saruman (to Merry), and turned his back on Merry, and kicked Wormtongue, and went away towards the wood.

Great guy, Saruman.

And the famous scouring of the Shire bit that everyone on here misremembers when it comes to Grima’s whole situation:

But Frodo said: (...) But I will not have him (Saruman) slain. It is useless to meet revenge with revenge: it will heal nothing. Go Saruman, by the speediest way!’

‘Worm! Worm!’ Saruman called; and out of a nearby hut came Wormtongue, crawling, almost like a dog. ‘To the road again, Worm!’ Said Saruman. ‘These fine fellows and lordlings are turning us adrift again. Come along!’

[Saruman tries to stab Frodo as he leaves and Sam gets ready to shank a bitch. Frodo stops him saying: ‘...He is fallen, and his cure is beyond us; but I would still spare him, in the hope that he may find it.’ ...]

He (Saruman) walked away, and the hobbits made a lane for him to pass; but their knuckles whitened as they gripped on their weapons. Wormtongue hesitated, and then followed his master.

‘Wormtongue!’ called Frodo. ‘You need not follow him. I know of no evil you have done to me. You can rest and food here a while, until you are stronger and can go your own ways.’

Wormtongue halted and looked back at him, half prepared to stay. Saruman turned. ‘No evil?’ he cackled. ‘Oh no! Even when he sneaks out at night it is only to look at the stars. But did I hear someone ask where poor Lotho is hiding? You know, don’t you Worm? Will you tell them?’

Wormtongue cowered down and whimpered: ‘No, no!’

‘Then I will,’ said Saruman. ‘Worm killed your chief, poor little fellow, your nice little Boss. Didn’t you, Worm? Stabbed him in his sleep, I believe. Buried him, I hope; though Worm has been very hungry lately. No, Worm is not really nice. You had better leave him to me.’

A look of wild hate came into Wormtongue’s red eyes. ‘You told me to; you made me do it,’ he hissed.

Saruman laughed. ‘You do what Sharkey says, always, don’t you, Worm? Well, now he says: follow!’ He kicked Wormtongue in the face as he grovelled, and turned and made off. But at that something snapped: suddenly Wormtongue rose up, drawing a hidden knife, and then with a snarl like a dog he sprang on Saruman’s back, jerked his head back, cut his throat, and with a yell ran off down the lane. Before Frodo could recover or speak a word, three hobbit-bows twanged and Wormtongue fell dead.

A sad end to a very sad life.

So that’s the canon ending, obviously. A very neat, pat ending where all the baddies are dead, everyone who is broken will disappear into an asylum and/or die take a boat to the grey havens and life will move on.

How nice.

Alright, now for the speculation! My favourite thing.

Assuming Grima lived, god knows what his journey afterwards would look like. He’s mentally (and physically) in a bad way after having been physically (and emotionally) abused and starved by Saruman for the last year/two years. Saruman may have lost his powers, but he’s still terrifying force to be reckoned with. I don’t know how much Grima would be capable of on his own in terms of survival.

That said, Grima’s made it this far. He’s clearly got something in him that’s keeping him alive. Something in him wants to live. It might not know how to go about doing that, but it’s there, and that’s important.

So he’s stabbed Saruman, A+ work. The hobbits don’t shoot him. The question is then: does he take up Frodo’s offer or does his fuck off into the wilderness.

I can see him going either direction, honestly. But I suspect, given that he’s starving and in a bad way physically, I suspect he’d stay for a time. Now, considering what’s happened to him in the general vicinity of Bagend, I’m not sure how long Grima will stay, but I do think he’d rest there for a short while. Get a proper meal or two in him. Take a bath. That sort of thing.

From there he could go to somewhere like Bree or Dale, take up a new name/new life and try and move on, as much as a person can in a world that has absolutely no support networks for people who have gone through bad shit.

If he stayed for a longer period with Frodo? I could see Sam putting him to work.

‘I need someone to help me garden.’

‘...I know about horses?’

‘Plants are easier, trust me.’

‘....Are they though?’

Considering the fact that Grima has been dehumanized (Worm; like a dog; cur) and treated as worthless/unworthy by one of the more powerful beings in Middle Earth - and one who was once Great! Who was once wise and wonderful! I suspect he’s going to have a difficult time accepting kindness?

Frodo, of course, would be generous and understanding, because it’s Frodo and that’s the measure of man he is. Truly one of the nicest and most forgiving and tender people in the series.

Aragorn said of Grima that if he walked out of Orthanc alive it would be too good for him.

(Everyone is a lot meaner in the books. Funnier, yes, but also meaner. Then there’s the weird Faramir moment where he’s all up on that “Numenorian Blood Quantum Is Important” nonsense (tell that to your brother who has no blood of the Westernese in him...) There’s a lot of Oooof moments).

Frodo, though, Frodo is one of the genuinely kind and loving people who would never think such cruel things about anyone.

But back to Grima, I think the line Gillian Flynn wrote about how when you’re weaned on poison, it makes kindness seem like a cruelty is very relevant here. The first step to healing is allowing yourself to admit that you deserve to be healed, that you deserve love. That’s a very hard thing to allow, to acknowledge is something you are worthy of having.

And so it would be difficult, for him, to accept kindness and gentleness from Frodo, or anyone else. But if he was doing something to “earn” it, that might make it more palatable.

Which is a shame, since if there is anyone who understands the power and allure of the dark lord/Saruman etc. and how that can mess you up and contort you into someone you don’t recognize anymore, it’s Frodo.

Would Grima go back to Rohan? I don’t think so. Unless there were some wild, unexpected circumstances that brought him there, I truly don’t see him returning home. He’s torched that bridge pretty successfully - at least, I’m sure that’s how he sees it.

Now if he did. If something Bat Shit happened - and he went back. It would be wild and very emotional.

A Rider of Rohan, lost in the shire: I’m looking for a Mr Baggins? I understand he might know where Gandalf is? We sort of need some magic help in Rohan.

Hobbit: Turn left at the end of the lane, go past Grubby Harold’s llama farm, stop at the intersection with the red sign, take the third exit of the roundabout, turn right, turn left, turn left again, take the second switch back up the hill, at the crest of the hill, take the path that turns left at the big tree that someone carved Fuck Lobelia into and that should get you close.

Rider:

Rider: Right.

Rider eventually shows up, Grima’s out front updating Sam on some shit that Pansy Fielding said to Fardulf Braceblower, an ongoing war that has existed since the Dawn of Time. Sam is like “Please never stop telling me all the gossip, I live for this shit.”

Frodo: How did you hear about this?

Grima: I might have set up an informant’s network but it’s solely to trawl for entertaining gossip.

Rider approaches: Oh dear gods.

Grima:

Grima: Go get fucked, Gundahar.

Sam: Friend?

Grima & Gundahar: No.

Anyway. The rider tells Frodo that he’s after Gandalf because XYZ is happening in Rohan and Eomer-king is annoyed and “wants it dealt with, preferably yesterday”. Grima knows what’s up because you know, resident Spook Master also he was spending a lot of time around a lore-filled Wizard. Might as well get something for the years of mistreatment.

Gundahar: He’s not coming back to Rohan.

Frodo: We’re going on a road trip, Sam. Let’s get packed.

Sam: I’m so ready for this.

Grima: But I’m not going back to Rohan.

Gundahar: He’s not coming back to Rohan.

Frodo: Too late, he’s coming with us. Neither of us can be left alone for too long or we go weird in the head.

Merry: Oh we’re going to Rohan? Well, as a member of the royal court I’m coming.

Gundahar: .... How is this happening?

Grima: Hobbits, they move in herds.

Pippin: WAIT FOR ME!

Gandalf is UPSET that he has to travel with Grima. Grima says it’s mutual. He doesn’t like wizards. Especially wizards in white. He gets weird about hoarding food when Gandalf is around.

Grima then has to visit Theoden’s grave and have a lot of emotions about everything and it’s a Lot.

I don’t think he’d stay, though. Either he’d go back with Frodo or he might go on to Gondor or out east or something. Travel for a while.

I’ve gone off on some tangents here. Ahem.

But in general, I see his journey going in one of two directions: one where he fucks off after murdering Saruman and takes up a life somewhere else like Bree, or wherever, probably drinks too much and is miserable until he dies.

The other is where he accepts Frodo’s offer and either just chills in the Shire being the resident gossip-monger and mischief maker (Frodo: NO MISCHIEF. Grima: we can make a little mischief .., as a treat?) or he accepts the offer, stays for a while to get back on his feet and shake off some of the darkness, then goes off to travel around. Maybe he settles somewhere, maybe he doesn’t. Regardless if he stays or goes, it is a better ending to his life than he probably hoped for or expected.

And it shows the power and importance of kindness and love. Healing only happens if there is love and gentleness. And it’s terrifying - of course it is - but it’s so necessary.

Ok I am so sorry for my dissertation on Grima. I love talking about him so much.

Thank you!! <3 <3

#lotr #lord of the rings #grima wormtongue #frodo #samwise gamgee #rohan #ask #reply #return of the kings #rotk

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omgkatsudonplease · 3 years

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[ficlet, bagginshield] shock and delight, pt 1 (bridgerton au)

The banks of the Brandywine River are packed with strolling couples on the day of the promenade, their chaperones following shortly behind. Thorin and the Fundinson brothers arrive exactly on time, Thorin carrying a bottle of Old Winyards. According to the sommelier in the shop at Bucklebury, this particular bottle was their last vintage one.

Bilbo and his chaperone Mr Greyhame show up a couple minutes late, the Hobbit fretting and dabbing at his brows with a monogrammed handkerchief. “I’m so terribly sorry for my lateness,” he flusters, hopping on one foot to the other like a nervous rabbit as he peers up at Thorin with a sheepish grin. “I forgot my pocket-handkerchief and had to go back for it.”

Thorin is caught between the absolute adorableness of Bilbo’s contrite pout and the absolute absurdity of the reason for his tardiness.

“You are forgiven,” he declares instead. Bilbo’s pout smooths into a heart-melting smile.

The two of them begin to head down the path alongside the river, their pace leisurely. Other promenaders pass them by, as well as several open carriages pulled by unprotesting ponies. Thorin finds his gaze oddly drawn to the way the spring sunlight seems to burnish Bilbo’s curls into gold. Probably where Lord Stormcrow got the Golden Hare moniker, he thinks, before forcibly looking away towards a young Hobbit family having a picnic by the river.

It’s a picture-perfect image of marital bliss. Thorin supposes something like that is what Bilbo is looking for, which Thorin himself obviously could not provide. Though he has yet to hear of any pushback against what must be an odd coupling by both Dwarvish and Hobbit standards, he is sure opposition will make itself known eventually. A marriage of true minds often lacks the productivity factor of a standard marriage, something which would be keenly felt in the family of a gentleman as distinguished as Bilbo Baggins’s.

He, on the other hand, has already named his sister-children as his heirs. So it didn’t matter whether or not he married at all, nor did it matter whether or not his One (wherever they may be) possessed the physical apparatus or mental inclination for childbearing.

“I have a question,” says Bilbo after a moment, breaking through Thorin’s thoughts like sunlight through stormclouds. “How do you know Gandalf? He’s an old family friend of mine, and apparently my cousin Fortinbras was the one who suggested he watch over me this season, but I don’t know how he would know you.” He looks thoughtful, hazel eyes peering inquisitively into Thorin’s face.

In spite of himself, Thorin feels exposed, almost vulnerable.

“I suppose Gandalf does have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, though,” muses Bilbo after a moment, before laughing and shrugging it off. “So? How do you know Gandalf?”

“To use your phrasing, Mr Greyhame has a finger in Erebor’s pie,” replies Thorin simply, not wanting to discuss how, years upon years ago, the Wizard had found his father in the depths of the Greenwood lost in enchantments and his own memories. King Thráin had, as the story went, finally succumbed to his grief about the deaths of his father and son, and had gotten lost in the Greenwood on his way to Azanulbizar to mourn them.

He half suspects that telling Bilbo all of that would just make the poor Hobbit run off screaming in the opposite direction. So instead he bites his tongue, folding his hands behind his back.

“I see,” says Bilbo, fiddling nervously with one of his cuff-links. “I’ve never been to Erebor. I’ve barely even left the Shire as-is.”

Thorin arches an eyebrow, remembering the abundance of maps and walking-sticks in Bag End the first time he’d gone over for dinner. The smial, though grand in size and luxurious in room variety, didn’t have the same cold ostentation as the mansions of Dwarves or Men. It felt homey, well-loved. A testament to lives well-lived.

No wonder Bilbo was so picky about the search for his One. If Thorin were not king, he would have wanted his halls just as cosy and warm, and he would have wanted to share it with only those who would brighten its nooks and crannies.

“You certainly give the appearance of being well-travelled,” he says neutrally, still thinking of the maps and walking-sticks.

“Within the Shire,” demurs Bilbo. “I have had to go to Annúminas on business, of course, and once I went to Fornost with my parents on holiday, but Hobbits as a rule try to stick within the four farthings of the Shire. After all, why go out to see the rest of the world when the world comes to us every year?”

His last question is both rhetorical and bitter. Thorin’s heart aches a little just hearing it.

“So it is a matter of respectability?” he wonders wryly. Bilbo raises an eyebrow, so Thorin explains. “There is not much stopping you from running out of your front door and into the Blue, after all.”

Bilbo chuckles ruefully. “No,” he agrees. “But every time the side of me that craves adventures begins to make plans, the other side of me protests mightily, saying I’ll miss my books and my armchair and having six regular meals a day.”

Thorin has, indeed, noticed that restaurants and tea shops in the Shire have a more constant cycle of meals than anywhere else in Middle-earth. He’s honestly not complaining.

“Speaking of meals,” he says, nodding towards the basket that Mr Greyhame is carrying, “I brought Old Winyards. Shall we find somewhere to sit?”

Bilbo checks his pocket-watch. “It’s halfway between elevensies and luncheon,” he remarks.

“Yes,” says Thorin. “Consider it ‘lunchensies’.”

Bilbo bursts out in laughter at that, a bright joyful sound that rings through Thorin like one of the golden bells of Dale. His own stomach flutters a bit, and it takes all of his self-control to simply gesture for Balin and Dwalin to come help them set up their picnic on the banks of the Brandywine River.

Lunchensies is a success. Bilbo immediately takes a liking to Balin the moment they all sit down on the blanket together, happily chatting with him about books and history in between bites of his sandwich. Thorin watches them, unable to stop the smile on his face as he watches the way his old friend brightens under the Hobbit’s genuine inquisitiveness.

“Yes, the road between here and Erebor was not as arduous as it used to be,” Balin is saying. “There is, of course, the stray highway robbery within Orc territory, but rumour has it that after the Shadow was broken at the end of the last Age, the majority of the Enemy’s armies have fallen out of its thrall and prefer to keep to themselves within the Mountains.”

“Occupying the ancestral halls of Khazad-dûm,” growls Dwalin. Thorin, too, feels the cold resentment deep in his stomach, but he tempers it by watching Bilbo chew thoughtfully at his sandwich, his nose twitching like a rabbit’s.

“While Durin’s Bane continues to live, Khazad-dûm cannot be retaken,” he reminds Dwalin.

“If it continues to live,” muses Balin, before hastily switching the topic. “On the other hand, we are fortunate not to have awoken anything similar within Erebor. Though we did almost lose it to the firedrake Smaug.”

Thorin remembers the flames, remembers the lives lost to the dragon. The tragedy had seemed insurmountable at the time, but now he supposes rebuilding a Kingdom within the ashes of dragonfire was not as bad as being forced to flee for a new home like what had happened to his ancestors in Khazad-dûm.

“Almost?” echoes Bilbo, his eyes wide. Dwalin hands him and Thorin both glasses of the Old Winyards. Mr Greyhame, too, is helping himself to a liberal portion of the wine.

“The Lady Mika, wife of the Lord of Dale, requited her husband’s death upon the dragon by shooting him with a black arrow,” explains Thorin as he pops a strawberry into his mouth. The fruit’s juices spill over his fingers; he hastily licks it off before wiping his fingers with the handkerchief.

Bilbo’s cheeks are dusted light pink when Thorin looks up again, and Thorin can feel his own cheeks heating in response.

“Well,” flounders the Hobbit, “that must have been terrible to go through. We haven’t had anything quite like that in the Shire, save for long and fell winters and the odd plague outbreak. But enough talk of dark and grim things! What is your favourite part of Erebor?”

The question throws Thorin for a moment. “Everything,” he says, but Bilbo raises a doubtful eyebrow at that. “All of Erebor is connected,” explains Thorin. “From the mines to the forges to the crafting halls, every part serves the whole.”

“Cogs in a machine,” muses Bilbo. “But what about a location? If you’ve grown up there all your life, surely you must have a favourite place. Secret hideouts from childhood, all of that.”

Thorin considers the question again, and this time the answer comes almost as if he had always meant to say it: “My mother’s garden,” he replies. “She kept a well-tended terrace beside the Royal apartments. We still take care of it, of course, and in the spring the cherry and apple blossoms blanket the grass like petalled snow.”

Bilbo’s expression lights up. “That sounds incredible,” he says.

“In the summer, the entire terrace is flooded with fireflies. I remember thinking once as a child that they were stars come down to play with us.”

Bilbo’s hands tighten against the stem of his wineglass. “I should very much like to see that,” he says quietly. Thorin smiles, before noticing the knowing glint in their companions’ eyes.

He glares at them until they subside.

#the hobbit #bagginshield #tolkien #lily's dabbles #bridgerton au

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sithroyal · 4 years

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get to know the blogger !

can be used for RP and non-RP blogs to get to know a bit about the person behind the screen.

1. first name: ripley 2. strange fact about yourself: i can multitask like a motherfucker. 3. top 3 physical things you find attractive on a person: their smile, their eyes, and how animated they may get. i love seeing someone get excited about something and their eyes light up or they start talking with their hands. 4. a food you could eat forever and not get bored of: pizza! 5. a food you hate: oysters 6. guilty pleasure: jigsaw puzzles and coloring games (especially the one on steam) 7. what do you sleep in: t-shirt and shorts. 8. serious relationships or flings: serious. 9. if you could go back in the past and change one thing about your life, what would it be: i wouldn’t be where i am today if i went back and changed even one thing but there’s been times i’ve wanted to. 10. are you an affectionate person: yes but i’m also something of a cat when it comes to certain people. 11. a movie you could watch over and over again: rocky horror picture show, tucker and dale vs evil, and boondock saints. 12. favourite book: 11/22/63 by Stephen King 13. you have the opportunity to keep any animal as a pet, what would you choose: an otter! 14. top 5 fictional ships (if you’re a rp blog, you can use your own ships as well): zenos/sephiroth, kylo/hux, noctis/prompto, peter/gwen, and kylo/clary 15. pie or cake: cake 16. favourite scent: freshly mowed grass, raspberry, and cherry 17. celebrity crush: none. 18. if you could travel anywhere, where would you go: to visit @affcgato 19. introvert or extrovert: 100% introvert. 20. do you scare easily: nah 21. iphone or android: either? i don’t own a phone so i have no preference 22. do you play any video games: yes. 23. dream job: author. 24. what would you do with a million dollars: take care of bills, buy my own land, move the house, and get a decent vehicle. 25. fictional characters you hate: there’s a couple but i keep those to myself. 26. fandom that you were once apart of but aren’t any longer: a few, i prefer to approach them with caution if i reenter.

tagged by: - tagging: @rabid-cur-hux, @tornbetweenthestorm, @affcgato, @reyjustrey, @jakkuforce, @poewingsdameron, or steal it and tag me!

#;;radar technician: ooc

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deborahkaya · 5 years

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Darling, good morning. Our arms are empty of each other for a moment only. How beautifully you turn… your mouth tilts to let my kisses in. Lie still… we shall be longer. We need so little room, we two...thus on a single pillow—as we move nearer, Nearer heaven—until I burst inside you like a screaming rocket. Then we are quietly apart... returning to this earth.

The following preview is from Chapter II of TIMELESS KEEPERS, the newly published third volume of our quantum fiction/magic realism quintet, THE TAMMABUKKU CHRONICLES.

https://www.amazon.com/Timeless-Keepers-Tammabukku-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B07YRTNCJ7/

The distant sound of our living timekeeper chimes four in the morning. I have no wish to extricate my body from David’s. Knowing the dreaded alarm is set for three hours later, I want us to remain one for as long as possible.

The January freeze penetrates our bedroom—the Yorkshire winds are gusting. The day I couldn’t bear to think about has arrived. I’ve gotten used to David being away a week or two, but four months... I’m sinking, overwhelmed with melancholia. Ambrose and I had discussed this subject and, feeling my pain, held me tightly, saying no one could be more empathetic about missing David. I could have joined Oblivion on tour, David wanted me to, but it seemed I’d merely be tagging along. I’m needed at Beak’s End and have a full work schedule myself.

We have foiled our enemies’ attempts to penetrate our protective shield, and during our Christmas visit with Ambrose last month, we shook off the last remnants of the Elestren nightmare. Ambrose told David to remain vigilant while he was on the road and cautioned me not to let emotions get in the way of what I must do.

David and I call our romantic history with Ambrose our spiritual ménage a trois, and can’t help but wonder what the dynamic will be like when we’re reunited in this life. We believe Sophia is out there somewhere in our present as well, and I yearn to be with her. The four of us are a spirit quad, and it is my belief we’re coming together again to do what is needed to open the doorway to ascension.

Day is breaking. Oblivion will fly to Miami from London late this afternoon, and their world tour will officially commence. For four months they’ll tour the U.S., Canada and Europe, before ending the first phase in London at Wembley. Since the demand is high, every concert was sold out within an hour of tickets going on sale. Adriana plans on seeing Julian when her work schedule permits, but I can’t think about that yet, as I have to focus on my own career. David will be home for a three-month break at the beginning of May before the tour resumes in early August.

Sensing that David is leaving, Dmitri restlessly paces the bedroom before settling at our feet with a whimper. He and I will commiserate when David is away, as we did when I was Cecilia, and Daniel was gone those long months at boarding school.

That wicked alarm goes off, but I press snooze so David and I can lie in each other’s arms. He has no choice but to soon get on his feet, as the limo will be here in an hour, and quickly showers, dresses and brings his bags downstairs. I make coffee, but don’t drink any as I’m tense enough already. David drinks a few cups while I sip kava kava tea. Since he isn’t driving, he takes hits of weed. When he hands the pipe to me, I’m afraid of magnifying the wrong mood, but he assures me it will help and he is right. I realize that I have forgotten how to be happy alone. Yes, I love David beyond measure, and while it’s normal to miss him, it isn’t healthy to grieve when he’s working.

The limo driver calls to say he’s approaching the front gate. As David and I embrace at the door, I dig my nails into his leather jacket. He implores me to stay in the foyer and not go outside on this frigid morning. Taking a deep breath, his hand reluctantly cracks the door open. “Share any little thing that strikes you, Shekinah. The small things are what I love most.”

Laughing through my tears, I joke, “Bartholomew knocked over the vase at the second-floor landing again... I bought watercress and arugula at our favorite organic produce stand in Thornton-le-Dale... Dmitri chased another squirrel...”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear—it will bring me right home. If I had it my way, you’d be with me on this tour. It was your choice not to go.”

“We talked about this. It’s something I have to do. I’ll be okay.” He touches my cheek and walks out the door before the tears welling in his eyes start falling. As he walks towards the limo, I keep reminding myself this is necessary for both of us, as I have an overwhelming urge to run after him and shout, “I’ve changed my mind!”

After the limo disappears from sight, I try to meditate, but find it exceedingly difficult to clear my head which is at odds with my heart. While I’m feeding the animals, David messages that he opened his book and found the sticky note with the serch bythol I’d left on the page with his bookmark. He reminded me that our separation is only physical. Yes, it’s only physical, but it hurts like hell.

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god-save-the-keen · 5 years

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STC: Save the crazy

STC: save the crazy

Book: Save the date

Pairing: no one, it's mc (Lauren) personality from the view of her best friend, Alison.

Summary: Lauren always was a person hard to deal with, but things are scaling a new level of craziness

Warning: If you like STD, don't read it. If you like MC and Justin, don't read it. It's shows mc like a crazy lady that I actually I feel she is. If you want to laugh or just see something bad about STD, this fic is for you. To be honest I hate this mc and I hate this book.

Words: 1299

Note: English it's not my first language, so let me know if there's something wired here.

Alison couldn’t think a time of her life where she wasn’t Lauren's best friend. They went to middle school, high school and even college together. She was always… Eccentric, living in her own world, but Alison love her anyway. When someone asked her in what point everything went wrong with Lauren, she honestly wasn’t sure. It was all abruptly or so slowly that she didn’t notice when her friend started to get lost? Her little cute fantasies that they both shared and enjoyed as child, still were in her head, that funny abrupt reactions when she was happy, nervous or mad, started to be more frequent and violent.

Before started to work in finance, she worked as assistant for a pintor. Alison was happy for her, Lauren started to go to exclusive art events, galleries, museums, met amazing people and places. Alison used to said that she was the Andrea of the Miranda Priestly of the art. One day, after work, they went to a pud to enjoy the Happy hour and decide to order some elaborate fancy cocktails because, why the hell not, right? They were chatting, Lauren complaining about her day, apparently a stressful one, when the bartender brought the drinks. Alison tried hers and love it, her Martini was perfect! James Bond was wrong, stirred was obviously the best way to drink a Martini. Lauren, however, frowned and looked at the bartender in a strange way.

“What it’s this? This is NOT what I ordered!” Her voice a little to much cold for the situation. “I asked for a Cosmopolitan with citrus vodka, this is just regular”

“Miss, I can assure this have citrus vodka, as the classic Cosmopolitan recipe is” he said with a very tense smile. Honestly, who can blame him? Lauren’s face was the same she always did when she hits her little finger.

“This is unavailable!! What kind of bartender are you?!” She was yelling while she started to stand up from the chair.

“Look lady, I can assure this was made with citrus vodka, if you don’t want it, you don’t have to drink it, but I have another costumers waiting for me.” He started to leave to a group of friends at the end of the bar when Lauren started to follow him.

“You know what?! It’s true, I don’t have to drink it!!” And threw her glass at the bartender's head, luckily, the guy was fast and ducked before the glass hited him. Before anyone could reacted, she grabbed her purse and goes angrily to the door.

Alison payed for both cocktails, with a huge tip for the bartender, God knows he deserved it, and went outside looking for Lauren. She found her waiting for a cab in the next corner.

“What the hell was that Lauren?!” Alison was mad. She just wanted have a nice drink and relaxed after a hard day at work.

“Whatever” and she took the cab without even said goodbye. Next morning Lauren texted her like nothing happens.

The few next week’s after that everything seems to be fine, though Lauren still had excessive reactions, none like the one in the bar. Until the party of the painter came, and with that the first fired. Short version: oil painting don’t look good as hats.

After that, she started working in a financial company and eventually met Dale, although Alison didn’t like him she learned to deal with it… He seems to made her happy and every time she tried to talked about him with Lauren, she started screaming or just leave. Their relationship scaled way to fast and, for Allison surprise, Dale proposed Lauren 3 months later. And for her even bigger surprise, she said yes. So the organization of the wedding begin. As the big day approached, Lauren was increasingly changing, one moment she was happy, singing some peppy pop song, and the next moment, crying over the most tiny thing. Alison thought it was the pre wedding jitters… Or at least she hoped it was that. A top of all that, Dale was acting wired and wired, but, like always Lauren didn’t wanted to hear nothing about it.

The day finally come, the happy couple was in the altar and everything seems to be okay... For a second. Before Bitsy stop de wedding and declared her love for Dale. Really? Dale had two woman’s interested in him? Alison thought that was pretty crazy. She was expecting Lauren started to yell or even do a more… er… physical approach. She kept looking at her and just a few words come from her, her friend was so destroyed to do anything? When they talked about this later, she told her that while everything was happening, she was imagining in her head at least 10 ways to hurt Dale and Bitsy… totally normal thing to do… right? After Dale and Bitsy leave the church, Alison rushed to Lauren and hugged her while her friend remind frozen… Again, for a second. Next she knows it’s that Lauren pushed her and started to destroy every single decoration she could find, she yelled to Dale's parents, the 80 and something couple probably still have nightmares about it and storms off. But it was the typical reaction of someone in her position… right? Alison wasn’t so sure at this point.

From that moment, Lauren didn’t care anything anymore, she was focus on her job, which was a good thing, except she let her boss take all the credit. Her extrem reactions continued happing and Allison was scared that what could happen when her frustration peaked.

After eighteen months of dating with Sam, he proposed to Alison and she said yes. A thousand times yes. In her mind it wasn’tno doubt that Lauren have to be her maid of honour and couldn’t wait to tell her. They went to a bar, order some cocktails, that hopefully didn’t went to anyone's head this time, and Alison approached the subject the best she can.

“Sooo, are you gonna be busy the next few months?” she said studying Lauren’s reaction.

“Huh? What do you—“ She saw the ring. “You and Sam…?” her voice was neutral.

“Yeeeessss! And I want you as my maid of honor!”

Lauren looked her for a hole minute before smile and hug her. “Of course I would be your maid of honor! I already have so many ideas! But all surprises for you, my friend!” Alison's smile faltered. After all, it was her wedding and she wanted do things in her own way. Maybe… this wasn’ta goods idea.

Six months later, and thanks to her and Sam's mothers that kept Lauren under control, the wedding day comes and everything was perfect. Alison felt more happy that never, everything was beautiful, Sam looked her like she was the most perfect thing in the world, Lauren dancing with the best man… Lauren dancing with Justin? That wasn’t good. Justin was the most toxic person she ever met. When Sam and she told him about the wedding, he laughed .

“Oh, you are serious” They both stared at him. “This is a bad idea, you know that right” She stand up and left. Either way, he was the best man, he was dancing with Lauren and she couldn’tdo nothing about it. Next day they saw each other in Lauren’s work, where after exposed her boss she started to scream and put garlic bread in his mouth, Justin fired her. Short version: tables should have their legs on ground. Second fire. At the end of the day she started to work as wedding planner for Justin sister. Alison was worried that, this time, Lauren’stake her fantasy world and extreme reactions in a new level. Only God knows how that it will end.

❣️

#play choices #choices stories you play #choices save the date #choices std #std justin #std mc #choices fanfics #choices fanfiction #justin x mc #simon x mc #lindsay x mc

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flyaway-33 · 5 years

Text

Yesterday-- Part 3

Story summary: Pre-Smile Era. You and Roger are best friends with benefits after having met at a dorm meeting the first night at university. The two of you navigate the newfound freedom of life away from home and learn more about each other and yourselves than you ever expected.

Part 3 Summary: With the stress of finals and the holidays taking a toll on everyone, Roger cracks and you learn something about him that no one else knows. 4.4k words.

Warnings: language, angst.

Disclaimer: This is only a work of fiction and in no way has anything to do with the lives of the real people with these names or anything they have said or shared.

You woke up in Roger’s bed for the millionth time that semester. This time hadn’t been sexual just like many other times hadn’t, just two friends comforting each other through the stress of the approach of your first finals in university. They were going on this week and the workload was taking its toll on both of you, causing tensions to run even higher than they had been between the two of you and your respective roommates. Roger’s had up and moved out after how in a fit of frustrated rage Roger had collected his roommate’s trash and dirty clothes off the floor and piled it all up on his pillow. You’d been there trying your hardest not to laugh as Roger and you sat on his bed, pretending to study as his roommate had come home to discover the prank of retaliation. Roger had acted aloof as though he didn’t know of or even notice the stack of garbage piled on the neighboring bed. Dale, the offending roommate hadn’t said a word, as he was terrified of Roger for no real reason that you were aware of. He’d started slamming shit around, packed his bags and left, returning a few days later for the remainder. You and Roger had been rolling with laughter when the door slammed behind him. Since then you had practically been living with Roger in his dorm room rather than your own, but he was growing distant and you were concerned.

Roger stirred beside you, he was the one against the wall this time, and he rolled over to face it, pretending to be asleep. You sighed heavily. This funk he had been in was starting to make you feel insecure about yourself. Was he sick of you? Did he still want you around? You got up and stretched as you walked over to the dresser, as you had taken over the empty one that had been his roommates, and you pawed around in the top drawer for a pair of pants to slip on over the underwear you’d slept in. You slipped on a worn and comfortable pair of jeans, left your camisole on as your top, and paused to stare at lump under the covers that was Roger.

“Rog,” you sighed after a moment. “I know you’re awake.”

He rolled over and looked up at you with a neutral expression but didn’t speak. He didn’t look happy or sad, he just looked unbelievably tired.

“Do you want me to leave? Its okay if you need some space.”

His blue eyes clouded in surprise and confusion as he studied your expression. “I wouldn’t ever ask you to leave!” His voice was thick and gravelly with sleep and stress.

“Why are you acting like you don’t want to hang out with me any more then?”

“Am I?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re distant, you’re not communicating, or messing with me— nothing!. You’re not acting normal at all, Rog. I’m worried about you.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest and stood beside his bed so your hips rested against the side of it.

He took a shuttering sigh and looked down at his lap. “I guess I’m just under a lot of pressure, okay? Medical school is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“Okay. We have a full day of studying today so we’ll put those worries to rest. Go get your shower.” You shooed him out of the bed, taking his spot, and smirked as he begrudgingly grabbed his towel and shower caddy and trudged out of the room. His answer to your concern didn’t satisfy you, but you were certain you would be able to get to the bottom of this, especially since you had ways of pulling answers out of him.

The day of studying was going painfully slow for both of you. You’d started the day by quizzing Roger with his anatomy flash cards, then he’d quizzed you on art styles and famous artists who’d pioneered them. When you got to ancient art history however, you studied alone, simply reading over your notes, but you weren’t taking any of it in and hours ticked by. You eventually resorted to rewriting your notes and copying pages of text to force yourself to read the words on the page, while Roger was busy staring at the pages of a large chemistry book. He began nervously thrumming his fingers on the desk and you glanced over to see that his expression was one of frustration. His brow furrowed and his lips twisted into a deep frown as he tried to take in the information on the page. Normally his subconscious drumming habit didn’t bother you whether it be with his fingers or pencils, but with how much you had to do and how reluctant your brain was to focus already it was grating on your nerves.

“Rog, could you quit that for a bit?” You used a sweet, gentle voice, trying your hardest to tread lightly around him, noticing how tense he was.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He stopped for a moment but started right back up barely a minute later. He didn’t realize he was doing it. You let him continue for a few minutes but the nonstop monotone tapping eventually started to make your skin crawl and you weren’t even trying to focus on your notes anymore.

“Roger!” You shouted in frustration, slapping your hands down on the desk.

His reaction shook you to your core.

“Bloody FUCK!” He yelled, leaping to his feet, his desk chair clattering backward behind him as he grasped the cover of his chemistry book and hurled it across the room. You watched in horror as he aimed a violent kick at his waste basket and it also soared across the room, landing with a loud clang, crumpled papers flying in every direction. “I can’t FUCKING DO THIS.” He wailed in anger as he reached out and in one sweep cleared his desk, books, papers, pencils, and all, covering the floor.

“R-Roger!” You cried, jumping to your feet as he aimed another kick at his bed frame, making it slide several inches across the floor. You had never seen him act this way and it scared you to death. “Roger Meddows Taylor.” You said firmly, though your voice shook slightly in fear. “Stop right this second.”

He paused and looked over at you. His usually sweet, innocent baby face was red from anger and every one of his muscles from his neck down were tensed, making him appear much bigger than he really was. He was nearly unrecognizable. The anger faded from his eyes and they momentarily softened as they bore into yours before tears welled up and he squeezed them shut, falling to his knees among the aftermath of his tantrum.

“Roger,” you said again, going to him.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he choked out, barely able to form a word. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” you sat beside him and put your arm over his shoulders, winding your fingers into his hair and pulling his head down to rest on your shoulder. “Apologize to your room.” It was meant to be a tease but it came out much more deadpan than you intended. You felt him shudder against you and knew it was a silent sob. “Please tell me what’s going on. Something isn’t right. I can tell.” Your other arm snaked around him, holding him tight. His entire body was still tensed and it broke your heart feeling the physical manifestation of his emotions as you clung to him. “Its alright, Rog, just tell me so I can help you.”

“I don’t know,” he breathed hesitantly.

“Oh come on, you can tell me anythi—“

“Its not that, I literally don’t know!” His voice was rising again and he tried pulling away from you, but you pulled back and his tears flowed faster as your hand in his hair kept him pinned down, massaging soothing circles into his head.

“Okay,” you tread carefully, “whats worrying you? Something you can’t get out of your head even if you don’t think it’s it. Be honest. What’s hurting you? Just think.” As someone who suffered from quite a bit of anxiety you could relate to the pain he was feeling and it broke your heart. You had learned to identify your stressors and knew you had to help him get to the bottom of his.

He was silent for a few moments and you let him be, knowing if you were going to get anything out of him you had to be patient. The tears had stopped and it was safe to say the tantrum was over, but you were still wary of upsetting him any more than he already was.

Finally, with his voice breaking slightly, he spoke: “I feel stupid.” You’d expected that, finals were tough on him.

“Okay,” you proceeded with caution, “well first off, Roger you’re one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. Med school is hard but you’re absolutely killing it without even trying. I wish I had half the natural intellect that you have.”

He let out a heavy sigh and swallowed thickly. “Thanks, but, that’s not the only thing. It’s just the icing on the cake making everything worse ‘cause my self esteem is shit right now…”

“What else?” You gently smoothed his hair down in soothing strokes where your fingers had tousled it when trying to calm him.

“I’m— I’m afraid to go home.”

You hadn’t expected that. “What? Why?”

“It doesn’t matter okay, I—“

“Yes it does matter, Roger. What the hell? Tell me why.”

“I— I don’t want to.”

“Rog, you do not get to make me watch you kick shit around like a child and not tell me what is going on with you.”

He pulled away from you and gave you a look filled with betrayal. He got to his feet and began to pick up the trash that had been strewn all over the floor and replace it into the now dented and battered waste basket, shame coloring his cheeks as he looked anywhere but at you. “I would just rather not talk about it.” He finally said as he put the basket down beside his desk where it belonged. He paced over to the door where his book had landed and gingerly picked it up, smoothing the crinkled pages and closing it carefully. The bed was the final thing to be corrected, and he pushed it back the few inches it had moved so that it was wedged in the corner once more. “I’m sorry.” He sighed as he settled back into his desk chair, still refusing to look at you.

At this point you were getting angry and you jumped to your feet and scooped your stuff off of the spare desk. “Whatever it is you’re going through, Roger, I wish you wouldn’t act like a fucking baby.”

At your words he stiffened and sat unnaturally still and silent, just taking any abuse you were throwing at him. “Grow up.” You spat, turning on your heel and fleeing through the door, instant regret flooding you, but held back by the dam of your pride.

It wasn’t fair of you to act this way just because he didn’t want to share something with you and you knew it, but you were hurt. Since the very first day you’d met, you and Roger shared everything. The good, the bad, the ugly. There was nothing going on in either of your lives that the other didn’t know about full disclosure, and it hurt that he was keeping something from you that had him so upset. You felt like he didn’t trust you anymore and you didn’t understand why.

You stormed up the stairs to your floor and slammed your door behind you upon entry. You felt fine about your first final in the morning so you tossed your books to the floor and fell dramatically onto your bed. Amy looked up from her own book, confused.

“What’s up with you?” She asked.

“Roger’s being a dick.” You grumbled, rolling onto your side and hugging your pink duvet to your chest, wishing it was the soft gray throw blanket that you always stole from Roger that smelled like him. It was his favorite but it was your favorite too.

“Ah, all’s not well in Roger-land. I see. What’s up?” She inched to the edge of her bed, dangling her legs over the side and abandoning her studying to stare at you in interest.

“He just threw the biggest temper tantrum and won’t tell me what’s wrong! I swear he’s an actual toddler.”

“What was he upset about?”

“Finals…” you trailed off as the rest wasn’t yours to share. “Something else was bothering him but he wouldn’t tell me. He cried.”

“Roger Taylor cried??” Amy exclaimed, nearly falling off her bed from the shock of the juicy gossip. You wished you hadn’t told her.

“Yeah. He just wouldn’t tell me what was going on so I called him a baby and left.”

“What the fuck.”

“I know, he was being ridiculous.”

“No I mean what the fuck, your best friend and not to mention one of the cutest boys on campus was reduced to tears and you called him a baby? What the hell, Y/N?!”

You were taken aback by her harshness but you immediately realized that she was completely right and your heart ached from the fact that you had added to whatever internal turmoil he was dealing with. “What should I do?”

“Go apologize and make him feel better.”

You looked at the clock. It was getting late and you had to get to sleep for your final tomorrow. You knew if you went down to Roger’s you’d be up all night. So you shook your head. “Its getting late. I’ll go see him tomorrow on my way out.”

Amy gave you a pointed look before getting under her covers and turning off her lamp. You did the same, wondering if you’d made the right choice. Your heart ached, knowing the state Roger was in just a floor below you, and you knew you had made it much worse.

At the first sound of your alarm you were up and rushing to get ready. You wanted to try to make it down to Roger’s room before he left for his final so that you could apologize. Rushing around you pulled on a pair of overalls with a lime green sweater beneath them and slipped on your go to white converse. Pulling on a large coat and your backpack you rushed out the door, tearing down to his room. You pounded on the door the moment you reached it and pressed your ear against it, straining to hear any movement inside. Nothing. You tried the handle desperately but it was locked and you knew you’d missed him. Head hanging low you continued on to face your first final of the week without seeing him, and as soon as you were finished you ran to the library to wait at the secluded back table at the library that the two of you would often camp out at when you both had a lot of school work. As soon as you sat down you pulled out your notebook and hastily flipped to the page where you and Roger had plotted out your finals week together, your schedule in purple ink and his in blue. A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you noticed that he had a final an hour before yours this morning, so him not being in his room wasn’t because he was trying to avoid you. He had the schedule written in his notebook as well. You had another final in an hour and he was done for the day, so you knew that if he wanted to find you, this is where he would come.

You tried to relax and cracked open your ancient art history textbook, staring blankly at a page on the Archaic Period. Scanning the seemingly never-ending information felt like it was frying your brain, and you knew you were totally unprepared for this exam, and you knew there was no way you could memorize all of this information for every period of art from the start of recorded history to the 19th century. You felt panic rising in your chest as your thoughts began to cycle through all of your concerns: the final, Roger, traveling home, Roger, buying Christmas gifts, Roger. Where was he? He still hadn’t come to find you and you felt horrible.

You dropped your face into your hands and held your breath, trying as hard as you could to suppress the tears that threatened to spill and you choked down the sob trying to force it’s way out of your chest. Your lungs felt tight and you knew you needed to try to breathe but you felt like you couldn’t and knew that you’d cry if you tried. You refused to cry in the library around prying eyes. You sunk down, your arms folding on the table and your head resting in them, hiding, feeling small. Valuable studying time ticked by, and you didn’t know how long you laid like that, but you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt a hand touch your shoulder.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes met his in surprise and you studied him closely for a moment. His hair was disheveled, eyes red-rimmed, and clothes the same from yesterday. He didn’t look like himself, sitting there across from you.

“Y/N, are you okay?” His voice was gravely and tired, and guilt flooded you knowing that you should be the one asking him that.

“You came,” you breathed, wanting to soak his image in. “God, Roger I am so sorry. I should have never said what I said—“

“It’s alright,” he interrupted you. “I’m alright.”

“I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

“I missed you this morning.” You reached out cautiously to smooth his messy hair. “You haven’t showered.” Not that he stunk or anything, but Mr. “tactile” Roger Taylor rarely if ever skipped his hygiene routine and it was unsettling to see him in this state wearing yesterday’s clothes.

“I’ve had a rough few hours, I didn’t sleep,” he sighed, looking away. “Are you alright?” He asked again, changing the subject and returning his eyes to meet yours. “I saw how you were laying.” He knew you too well.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you, but okay.” He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Hey, so after your next final you’re done until Friday, right? Come by my room when you’re finished with it, I’ll get takeout for us.”

“Okay,” you smiled at him genuinely. You just wanted to spend time with him no matter what emotions were running high or what confusion or secrets were overwhelming either of you. You had missed him.

“We can… we can talk, if you still want to know.”

“Of course I still want to know.” Selfish, but you couldn’t help it. At this point you felt like you needed to know or you’d go crazy.

“Okay,” he got to his feet and hesitated, studying you for a moment. “You might want to get going. Good luck, you’re going to do great.” He leaned in and pressed a chaste good luck kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you,” you sighed. Getting to your feet you threw your arms around him for a relaxing, rejuvenating hug, before scooping your books back into your bag and taking off to your next exam, feeling more confident after having seen Roger.

You rushed through your exam, finding it much easier than you expected and you rushed back to the dorm building as soon as you were finished and ran straight to Roger’s door. You didn’t knock and came right in, finding him laying on his back on the bed gazing blankly at the ceiling as the radio played softly beside him on the desk. Across the Universe by The Beatles Floated through the small speaker. Music always relaxed him and he would do this: just sit alone with the radio playing staring into nothing when he needed to decompress. The catatonic state he would sometimes go into when he did so made you uneasy but it always improved his mood so you couldn’t complain. Roger nearly jumped out of his skin when you barged in interrupting his peace, but when he saw who it was a small smile formed on his perfect pink lips. “Hello, darling,” he cooed lightly, seeming much more relaxed than he had over the past several hours.

“Roggie! Where’s the take out you promised?” You jumped onto the bed, letting your backpack land with a heavy thud on the floor.

“By the heater to keep it warm. How do you think you did on your final?” Roger got to his feet and went to pick up the brown take out bag from where it sat on a chair in front of the radiator.

“I actually think I did okay. I knew more than I thought I would.”

“Thats great! I’m glad to hear it.” There was something off about his tone now, it wasn’t as relaxed as it had been mere seconds ago and he seemed to be forcing the cheeriness in his voice as he got the food out and set it on his desk, growing more tense by the second. You jumped up and pulled a chair up to the desk as he settled back on his bed with his noodles and a pair of wooden chopsticks, pushing the food around it the container.

“How are your finals going?” You eyed him carefully , looking for any subtle reactions he may have. Knowing him so well you could read his face like an open book and you could see the weariness returning to his soft blue eyes. “They’re alright. I think I did okay today.”

“That’s good.” The conversation was drier than any conversation you’d ever had with him, it felt foreign and wrong making dumb small talk with someone you were so close to. You sighed, growing impatient with the elephant in the room. “Talk to me, Rog.”

“I am,” he protested, his eyes snapping up to yours.

“You know what I mean.” Staring him down you hoped the concern you felt for him overpowered the frustration showing through your expression. “You don’t keep secrets from me and you’re worrying me.”

“It’s hard to talk about.” His cheeks were growing pink and he returned his hard glare back to the container of noodles he was still stabbing with the chopsticks. Fidgeting was a constant habit of his that always worsened and became destructive when he was nervous: peeling labels off cans and bottles, breaking pen caps, and worsening holes in clothes were just a few of the things you’d seen him do when he was nervous, and it pained you to see how uncomfortable he was.

“Okay,” proceeding with caution, thinking before speaking, being careful with your choice of words: those were ways to coax him into explaining himself. “So, are you afraid to go home because of your grades?”

He shook his head no.

“Someone in your hometown you don’t want to see.”

“Not really.”

“Your parents?”

His eyes met yours briefly at that suggestion but darted away before you could read them.

“Roger, are you afraid of your parents?” Shock was all you felt as you examined him and knew that you’d guessed right.

“I— They—“ he stuttered, searching for how to explain himself. “They’re wonderful, they only want the best for me but at home, stress gets the best of them, I guess. I don’t know how to explain it properly.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes and he continued stabbing his food.

“Do they hurt you, Rog?” You gently placed a hand on his arm as you spoke softly, and he froze under your touch, his eyes glued to the hand that rested on his skin.

“No… Not physically.”

“Please help me understand.”

His eyes finally met yours and you could see that they were glazed with unshed tears, red rimmed bringing out the vibrant blue tones in his irises. Those eyes so full of life and soul looked broken. “They fight. All the damn time and sometimes it gets violent. My dad— he gets mad at me too sometimes, thinks some of the things I do will ruin my future and he lets me hear it.”

“Oh, Rog—“

“I know its normal for parents to fight and for them to ride your ass and want the best for you, but I hate going home, Y/N.”

“Come ‘ere” you got back up onto the bed and pulled him to your chest, holding him tight as though you could keep him safe just by holding him and never letting go. The hurt in his voice and the trembling of his body as he let you into this exclusive, very secret part of his life scared you, knowing these were big emotions and you weren’t sure how you could help him. It was more than you had expected. “Come home with me,” you blurted. “You don’t have to go home, Rog. Come home with me.”

A/N: if you read this please send me a dm or an ask/anon ask. I just want to know if people are reading. Comments & critiques would be a plus, too. I’m still trying to figure out Tumblr and I don’t know if I’m doing something wrong or if my writing just sucks.

#roger taylor fic #roger x reader #queen fic

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aquarianwisp · 5 years

Note

I dream of being a healer, where should I start? (books, blogs, etc.)

Hey hun,

There is a lottttt to study. But if you are really into it, it will seem effortless.

The first place to start is yourself. You need to be on a journey towards healing yourself. You cannot truly understand spiritual healing until you begin practising on yourself and moving your own internal clutter. Usually, healers start out wounded, so if you have suffered before in your past you are probably compassionate and understanding of the struggles of others and this makes you a perfect candidate for being a healer. You will need to realise that there is never really a point that you are fully healed and ready to be a healer, it is something that is an ongoing process and there will be times when the universe will tell you that you personally need to fix something within yourself and then suddenly you will start to have people come to you for help that all have the same problem. Lol. Healing never stops.

First things first, I recommend wide reading into psychology. Medical journals are your friend.Next, read into Hindu philosophy.Thirdly, read into Quantum Physics.

The reason for this is two things. Firstly, a lottttt of people with mental health issues will present to you for help. You need to understand the current medical research around these conditions and how it makes someone act and feel so that you can learn which types of rituals are best for what type of behaviour and thought patterns. The other thing you need to look into psychology for is that many physical diseases cause so much distress in people that their bodies respond very strongly to their emotions around their condition, or someone may actually begin to develop mental illness as a result of suffering from a physical condition. So it is good to read up on grief and how people process heavy sadness.

Secondly, a lot of modern spiritual healing courses and studies have their basis in Hindu Philosophy. Even the Japanese Reiki healing practice has taken material from Hindu Philosophy. So it is everywhere in the healing community. Every study in spiritual healing I have encountered so far, including aromatherapy, sound healing, modern shamanic studies, crystal healing, angel healing etc etc all use the chakra system and take a bulk of their understanding from Hindu Philosophy.Thirdly, read into Quantum physics. The reason for this is that modern science is beginning to catch up on what spiritual yogis in India have known for thousands of years. The energy systems of the body and the universe around us are now being understood through quantum physics. Many people these days need or want to know the science behind energy practices and the logic behind why they work. People often brush off spiritual healers as a bunch of superstitious folks who’ve taken a few too many drugs. But there is actual science that is beginning to look into it!And it’s really useful to know as a healer because a lot of spiritual healing studies again take a lot of their understanding of energy from quantum physics as well, such as the holographic universe theory and string theory.I also recommend reading into the effects of emotions and stress on the physical body- for example, emotions lead to inflammation in the body and then inflammation leads to disease etc.

Also, there are many courses you can do online for healing.

You can actually study reiki online, and there is also crystal healing classes, sound healing etc. Some healing methods such as Reiki require you to be initiated into it by a teacher, but depending on the teacher they may do this long distance. And yes, Reiki and spiritual healing can be done long distance, again because of the understanding of how energy works as discussed in quantum physics theories.

The only thing I cannot recommend online study for is Shamanism. That is something that I believe would have to be learned with a teacher for many years in person.

Here are a few books I recommend:

Hands of light- Barbara Brennan

Path of the Priestess- Sharron RoseThe Subtle Body- Cyndi Dale

Subtle Body Practice Manual - Cyndi DaleSoul Journeying- Alberto VilloldoThe heart of the Shaman- Alberto VilloldoWomen who run with the wolves- Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Autobiography of a Yogi- Paramahansa Yogananda

Healing affirmations- Paramahansa Yogananda

The Divine Romance- Paramahansa Yogananda

Man’s eternal quest- Paramahansa Yogananda

The One Within the many: the stories and messages from the life of Meher Baba- Bill Le Page

God speaks- Meher Baba

The everything and the nothing- Meher Baba

Infinite intelligence- Meher Baba

The Fabric of the Cosmos- Brian GreeneThe Quantum Universe- Brian Cox

The Tesla Metamorphosis- Anya Petrovic (I haven’t read this yet, but I think it looks awesome and I am planning to read this next, so I recommend it already lol.)

Other sources which can be inspiring

Gaia.com - Basically the spiritual netflix, loads of interviews on there with spiritual healers, studies on spiritual plants etc. This is around the same price as netflix, but you can get one-month free trial to see how you like it. Google scholar- Just like Google, but it searches for academic papers. This is a great resource for trawling through medical journals on psychology and many illnesses.

#spiritual healing #spirituality #healing #energy healing

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wanderlust-and-road-dust · 5 years

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F’nor Azril

THE BASICS ––– –

Name: F’nor Azril. Formerly Fonn Byquist, but due to her leaving her people she’s adopted the Mi’qote mechanic of naming, not initially understanding the apostrophes in their names. She’s stuck with it though, as she finds bears to be a good representation of her solitary wanderings and stout self reliance.

Age: Seasons come and seasons go, so why count them? 87

Birthday: 30th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

Race: Viera, Rava.

Gender: Trans woman.

Sexuality: Pansexual.

Marital Status: Single.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ––– –

Hair: A burnished copper that abruptly shifts to black tips. Recently shorn short after an incident with an ink pot, though she kept one long braid on her right side that she fiddles with on occasion. Usually brushing the end against her lips and chin as she’s thinking.

Eyes: Left eye Cactuar green. Right eye a startling vibrant purple, which she’s blind in. Usually keeps her right eye covered with a patch, or wears glasses to aid her ailing eyesight.

Height: 5 fulms, 10 ilms.

Build: Wirey, in a word. She’d look scrawny if not for lean corded muscles defining her arms and legs. F’nor’s physique is reminiscent of tough roots. Long hours of traveling by foot the length and breadth of the map, she’s in peak physical condition.

Distinguishing Marks: A smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the oddity of her purple right eye. Beyond which F’nor is relatively free of any other distinguishing features. Perhaps ink smudges on her face, ink stained finger tips from absentminded quill work. Or a myriad of minor nicks and scrapes from hard travel, but they quickly heal and fade in due time.

Common Appearance: Almost always in her orange poncho and traveling moccasins, she stands out like a sore thumb. Though often her poncho isn’t quite as flashy due in no small part to the large quantity of road dust she accumulates on her wandering. Sometimes wearing an eye patch, sometimes wearing glasses, sometimes she just forgets either until reminded. An idle stance of crossed arms and bemused curiosity finish her ensemble.

PERSONAL ––– –

Profession: Vagabond story hoarder, cartographer and amateur botanist.

Hobbies Reading, collecting and sampling tea, retrieving odd little artefacts.

Languages: Common, Vieran

Residence: Wherever she happens to find herself in the evening. Sometimes a travelers lodge, other times at a campfire by herself.

Birthplace: An out of the way corner of the Golmore Jungle.

Religion: Better to acknowledge the gods than to deny or doubt they exist.

Patron God: Azeyma, though she honestly falls under the patronage of Oschon more so.

Fears: Large crowds of people, confinement, spiders.

RELATIONSHIPS ––– -

Spouse: None

Children: None

Parents: As a Viera who has left the fold, F’nor is dead to her parents

Siblings: None

Other: None

Pets: A toad named Hopalong and her trusty chocobo Farstrider.

TRAITS ––– -

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless (extremely so)

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader (unless someone has a better plan or is more qualified) / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between (rather informal and not much for the strictures of civilized societal hierarchy and the like) / Uncultured

Loyal (extremely so) / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between (this one is more to do with faith as in belief than faith as in loyalty) / Unfaithful

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ––– –

Smoking Habit: Sometimes after a hard days travel a pipe of weed is nice to unwind with, especially by a campfire with a good book.

Drugs: No particular habit for drugs.

Alcohol: Has a soft spot for harder spirits, particularly earthy and smokey flavored drinks. Like whisky (difference between Whisky and Whiskey is one without the E is Scotch and with the E is every other Whiskey besides Scottish Whisky. I don’t really know how that translates into game lore, but I’m sure there’s a distinction somewhere. There’s not an overly in depth dive into the alcohols brewed by the various races and regions. Or at least that I’m aware of)

RP HOOKS ––– –

Not all who wander are lost: F’nor likes to wander. To explore, to rove off from the beaten path and travel paths less traveled. The world is a wide and wild place dramatically different from the sweltering confines of the Golmore jungle. As such she can be found wandering the byways of Aldenard exploring ever outward from Limsa Lominsa. Currently her travels have taken her into the winter locked lands of Coerthas where she was not properly prepared for the cold and as such promptly turned back around to the Shroud of Gridania to better outfit herself for the horrendous cold. Though not one for staying in anyone one place long, who knows when she’ll move on to another portion of the world?

A message in a bottle? How curious... - A chance encounter of finding a stoppered bottle in a tree she was harvesting for mirror apples has piqued F’nor’s curiosity. Opening the bottle to reveal the contents to be a vague and crude map she’s avidly been tearing her way through every tree, bush and rock looking for more of these mysterious bottles. If you chance upon a madly muttering Viera diving head long into a bush or peering into every knothole on a tree, odds are good you’ve ran into F’nor. Treasure finding and the satisfaction of solving these vague scraps of parchment are one of her most favored past times. Not only does it set her off on a whirlwind adventure, usually on the spur of the moment, it usually has her go to places she’s never been. Truly a win win situation. If you have a map and are willing to share the journey with her, she’ll happily tag along for the journey alone. The trifles and baubles dug up might interest her, but she’ll happily abide by map owners claim for the rewards.

Tale as old as time - Besides seemingly wandering aimlessly and mapping her travels, F’nor’s rambling jaunts across hill and dale serve a greater purpose. Though the reason is equally vague as her meandering. She’s on the hunt for stories, folk tales, anecdotes and myths of the regions she roves through. If you’ve got some time and are willing to spin a yarn or two, F’nor’ll be more than happy to share her fire and company to listen to you.

Ramblin’ Woman - Once primed to a subject matter, F’nor has a tendency to just... well... run at the mouth. Sometimes she’ll wax poetically. Other times she’ll just talk for what seems like hours. There’s no rhyme or reason to when she’ll set off like a chocobo in search of choice gysahl greens. Just prepare for a veritable deluge of talk about whatever topic has currently caught her fancy. That’s not to say some folks can’t get a word in edge wise, she’s attentive and will let whomever she’s bludgeoning with words have a chance to speak. She just fully intends to have her say first. At length. Much to many a persons dismay. Seemingly a rather quiet individual, she’ll often blindside a random stranger who just wanted to sit in peace and quiet by another seemingly quiet stranger. However if you’re up to the challenge of mincing words with the quirkily gregarious Viera, have at. She likes a good talk, particularly if it’s something she’s fascinated by. Truth be told, that can be just about anything. She’s an avid hoarder of information.

Absentminded Woolgatherer - Lost in thought, head in the clouds, feet off the ground. F’nor is likely off in her own little world thinking about who knows what. Caught in the rain without cloak or other rain protection, she’ll blithely wander around, gaze fixed inward as she plods on. Sometimes she’ll wander into an inn or market stall and blink in surprise and wonderment as to how she got to be where she is. Sometimes if she’s particularly caught up in her own thoughts she’ll run into you, your chocobo, that tree over there. She’ll bounce off random objects and reorient herself and go careening off until she runs into the next object in her path. Hells, she might even wander into a stream, cross it, and walk around with squelching boots without noticing what she’s done. She didn’t mean to startle you. Oh and if she doesn’t apologize, sorry. Thoughts in chaos and all that.

CONTACT INFORMATION and OOC NOTES ––– –

‘eyo and hello and hi and all that jazz, greetings etc. F’nor’s and old hat of mine that has been rattling around the byways for a long and long time. I’ve been role playing in a variety of different formats for... an astonishingly long time now that I think about it. Pen and Paper since I was twelve, other table top rpgs, video games and what not for a good going on twenty years now. Yes, that means I’m 32. Or turning 32 this year. I honestly stopped counting somewhere in my twenties. Honestly that’s just an excuse for me to say I forget regularly how old I am exactly. I’m in this community to have fun, to build wonderful stories. To revel in shared experience and craft truly remarkable things with you. So, why don’t you come and join me on this adventure? It’s a long road and best shared with good friends, good food and good drink. Side note, I’m not really into ERP. Romance might happen, things develop organically. Might go the way of a pleasant night of shared company that gets a little more intimate. But I’m just flat out bad at it and even gets a bit tedious. There’s only so many ways one can write about sexual encounters before it gets repetitive. If that’s your thing, fine and good, just don’t try and drag me into it. Please and thank you. You can find me here on tumblr on either this blog or my other inspiration blog @fnorazril. You can also get a hold of me on discord as well as Transdimensional Shambler#0179. Not to mention Balmung of FFXIV, though more often I’m on Mateus bumbling around chasing a courier.

#FFXIV #F'nor Azril #Character Hooks

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modernlcve · 5 years

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* — stats — casey porter !

* — basics !

full name: casey clayton porter. nickname(s): just casey :) age: twenty - six. date of birth: june seventeenth. place of birth: zebulon, north carolina. gender: demiboy. pronouns: he / they. sexual orientation: gay. level of education: high school graduate. recipient of a degree in performance and culture.

* — physical !

tattoos: a traditional style catfish on their right forearm, ”turn and face the strange” in a simple font on their collarbone. two flash tattoos on their right thigh, a fox and a strawberry. piercings: septum pierced. an eyebrow piercing they no longer wear. notable features: im too horny for avan jogia to answer this im sorry. weakness(es): melancholy. scar(s): none notable.

* — domestic !

occupation: odd jobs. gigs with the band, drives for uber, gives piano lessons. residence: an apartment in delphinus heights, lives with roommates. social class: middle class. parents: dale porter, age 56, old school but tries his best to Get casey’s whole deal because he cares. nancy porter, age 52, wants to be hip and tries to come out to as many shows as she can. siblings: cassidy porter, age 20, younger sister. they keep in touch well, frequent phone calls and such. extended family: grandparents, a couple aunts and uncles, the works. they’re not exceptionally close to any of them because they’re Less Willing to try and get casey.

* — personality !

positive traits: solicitous, expressive, upbeat. negative traits: oversensitive, thoughtless, pretentious. myers-briggs ( x ): infp, the mediator. temperament: phlegmatic. moral alignment: neutral good. horoscope: gemini, the twins. hogwarts house: hufflepuff.

* — favorites !

movie: cabaret. tv show: parks and recreation. book: absalom, absalom! drink: sweet tea. food: strawberries. animal: fox. color: light purple. song: im not strong enough to pick, artist: again they just love music sm, celebrity crush: michael stipe circa 1985.

* — impressions !

first impression: idk they’re chill. i feel like they don’t make a super strong first impression, they’re the kind of person that grows on you after a few conversations. self impression: changes with the Wind they’re a gemini sometimes they’re a beautiful artist others they’re a gremlin fraud. u can never tell what ur gonna get, lover impression: perhaps a little smothering. they care, a lot, and they love Feeling things and getting to Embrace said feelings in a way that could be overwhleming.

* — et cetera !

turn ons: casey is sapiosexual. turn offs: judgemental is a big no go. drink/drugs/smoke: yes/weed/no. dominant hand: left. clean or messy: messy. early bird or night owl: early bird. hobbies or special talents: plays guitar and piano. can technically dance.

* — QUESTIONNAIRE !

01. where was your character born? what brought them to carina bay? what do they like most about the town?

casey was born in charlotte, but moved almost immediately with their adoptive parents to zebulon. they came to carina for school and stuck around because they just Vibed with it better than they did their hometown. they like the people, and the social Scene that lets them really let their hair down,

02. who are your character’s friends and family? who do they surround themselves with? who are the people your character is closest to?

their family is dispersed across the state of north carolina. asides from their parents and their sister, their relationship with their family is strained, because they’re the Bad kind of southern where ur mean 2 people for no reason. so, they surround themselves with people who are accepting and open-minded to make up for it. they’re closest to their band-mates, the people they spend so much of their time with.

03. what is your character’s biggest fear? who have they told this to? who would they never tell this to? why?

their biggest fear is their music becoming work. music has always been and outlet and escape for casey, and as the band becomes more serious and looks for ways to gain traction, they’re worried a day will come that it will feel like less of a passion and dream job and more of a chore, a stressor in their life. they wouldn’t mention this to the band, because he knows some members have more riding on potential success than others, but they probably word vomited something about it to finley at some point or another.

04. has your character ever been in love? had a broken heart?

i think the only person casey has been Genuinely In Love with is finley. they’ve loved a lot of people, but you know there’s a Difference and what not. by extension, that breakup did break their heart a little, especially since it was on the basis that they were More Invested in taking the next step with things, it was a rejection that stung.

05. your character is doing intense spring cleaning. what is easy for them to throw out? what is difficult for them to part with? why?

in general, they live minimally, and don’t have a hard time getting rid of things because they’re just Things. but they do have a collection of hats from places they’ve visited and for special events they’ve gone to and they would rather Die than whittle those down even if they only wear the same 3 ballcaps.

06. it’s saturday at noon. what is your character doing? give details.

giving piano lessons, probably. they’re an early riser, and spend most of saturday morning on their personal tasks for the day, and devote much of the mid-day and afternoon to whatever Hustle they’re currently on, leaving nights open for gigging or just hanging out with the gang.

07. what is one strong memory that has stuck with your character since childhood?

they vividly remember wading in the water behind their grandparents house with their cousins and sister at some kind of family reunion. because they went through a Big Rebel Phase that transitioned into a Big Gay Revelation, they don’t have a lot of memory of feeling like they were A Part of the family at large and sometimes yeah they miss when they were a kid and they had that.

08. what is in your character’s refrigerator right now? on their bedroom floor? their nightstand? in their wastebasket?

frankly i’m about to start removing this question i think i simply don’t have anything interesting to say in the FRIDGE theres FOOD on the FLOOR theres LAUNDRY in the NIGHTSTAND theres JUNK need i say more

09. what is something that upsets your character? where do they go when they’re upset? on the opposite end, what is something that makes them laugh out loud? where or when are they at their happiest?

casey takes things other people say more to heart than they probably should. they read into things and find rudeness where perhaps there isn’t and it’s probably what leads to most of their Episodes. when they’re upset, they like to go out to the beach by themselves with their headphones and just Lay There a little. this is another one i could probably shorten for a lot of my muses because. they laugh when things are funny and they’re happy when they’re with their friends :pensive:

10. when your character thinks of their childhood kitchen, what smell do they associate with it? why?

their mom used to light this apple pie scented candle 24/7 so more than any food stuff that was prepared in the kitchen, they remember the scent and the crackling wick of the candle in the window.

#( casey porter. )#( stats. )

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xxbyimm · 6 years

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The bet - A Thorin x OC series

For anyone who’s interested: here’s a link to my Masterlist OR if you love Enya, check out her story: Enya’s unexpected journey.

Based on this imagine that I posted on Tumblr that everyone seemed to love. I decided that Thorin needed a strong OC for this series to work, so... Yes. I ended up with Enya. The characters did their own thing, so my first chapter turned out a little bit... different than I anticipated. I hope y’all like it anyway. xoxo

Phase I - The bet

Summary: Our OC Enya lands in a fierce argument with her king, because she has seen him staring at another dam’s ass. She offers Thorin a challenge: to prove to her he does has, in fact, decent self-control, he has to refrain four weeks from physical contact. He thinks he can make it. Easily. He is a king. But who says the queen is gonna let him win this easily? Let the games begin…

Taglist: @symphony25 @oakenshieldsmizimel, @nelswp, @bellastellaluna, @imagines-for-multiple-fandoms, @leah-halliwell92, @sassytyphoondetective, @jotink78, @armitageadoration, @patanghill17, @sweeticedtea, @evyiione, @fergrigori, @thegreyberet, @maioneill, @mycabin13-blog, @deepestfirefun - Tumblr doesn’t want to tag some of you properly, I’m sorry!!! If you wish to be on this list, please let me know.

Warning: Enya’s swearing. Contains smut.

All men were the fucking same.

No exceptions. Her mother had told her that once, many years before. Enya remembered the night vividly. There had been a party, hosted by a guy from her math-class she really, really liked. She had spent all day perfecting her look: trying to find the right outfit, adding just another layer of mascara… She had been all fired up; ready to receive that first kiss. Alas it turned out to be a disaster; the object of her affection broke her heart by kissing her best friend. Enya went straight home and sat on the patio for hours as she tried to remember what she had done wrong to deserve something like this. The tears that kept falling down her cheeks ruined her makeup and turned her into a sad panda. It didn’t matter, her life had ended anyway. Looking back, she had to conclude that back then, she had already been quite the drama queen. At some point her mom joined her and pulled her daughter into a tight hug. At first Enya didn’t want to talk to her mother and tried to shove her away as any teenager would do. The two of them fought all the time (and would spend a great deal of their time quarrelling after that day anyway), and Ailva seemed the last person on earth capable of comforting her. But at that moment, Ailva just held her daughter and understood the agonizing feeling of an heartbreak.

‘All men are the same, En.’ She confided. ‘They can’t help it, it’s the weakness in their flesh.’ ‘But we were meant to be!’ Enya had cried out, too hurt to see the boy in question clearly wasn’t. A soft smile appeared on Ailva’s face, only too familiar with puppy love. ‘You’ll find your soulmate, honey. Don’t you worry. And when you do, you’ll know.’ ‘How?’ Enya had sniffed. This wasn’t helping her at all! A faint promise of meeting someone in the future who she didn’t even know yet, how was that supposed to cheer her up? ‘You just know.’ Her mother replied. ‘Trust me.’

Looking back, Enya wished she should have been wise and listened to the warning. But, naive as she was, she didn’t. She broke her heart many times after that night, always being left with the echo of her mother’s promise. She often wondered if she already met her soulmate, and why he hadn't found her yet. Ha, she bet the poor bastard probably took a wrong turn somewhere and was lost, too stubborn to ask for directions.

Turned out that was more true than she ever could imagine. The love of her life often lost his way, but was too proud to admit it. Even to her. A smile crossed her face. Her mother had been right after all. The day she met Thorin… It had been fireworks from the start. The intensity in which she wanted him, the fact that they couldn’t stay away from each other... They were bound to each other, meant to be. Designed by Mahal himself to match. Although their journey to Erebor hadn’t been easy and adjusting to their new roles as king and queen proved to be more of a challenge than both of them had expected, they had each other. She knew she could count on him. She knew the passion never died, because behind closed doors they were still as insatiable as in the beginning of their relationship. They were rock solid.

Or so she thought.

‘All men are the same, En.’ She repeated to herself. She huffed. Just mankind? For a long time she believed that dwarves were different, but right now she wasn’t so sure anymore. All males, every race included, were bastards. She’d never thought that Thorin would be the same, because he was no ordinary male. He was a dwarf lord, for god’s sake. But that obviously didn’t protect him from falling for the oldest trick in the book.

The other woman.

Enya Blueheart heaved a sigh and stood up from the huge boulder she had been sitting on for the last few hours. Since she lived in Thorin’s renewed kingdom, this rocky area on the quiet side of the mountain had been her refuge. She came here to practice her powers and to meditate- a vain attempt to keep herself sane. The mountain slope provided enough cover from prying eyes, allowing her to unleash her rage fully. On top of all that, from this point it only was a twenty minutes’ walk to Dale. She liked to come in Dale. After the BOTFA she had become good friends with Bard, and she couldn’t be more proud of him. The way he handled his position as lord of the city was admirable, and he had managed to transform the town into a thriving center again. The relationship between Erebor and Dale was, thanks to Enya, finally improving. Thorin wasn’t too happy about the bond between his wife and the bowman, but she simply told him to get over it and he did. For some time, things seemed to be right.

Enya slowly began climbing the path towards Erebor again. She had been outside all day, first helping out Bard with his letter to king Thranduil, and after that she spent the remaining afternoon on her hidden spot. The sky was already darkening, but she dreaded to go home. Not now, not when… She clenched her jaw, scolding herself for growing into a weak version of herself. Old Enya would have scorched any female that came near her king; after that she’d probably throw the ashes off the mountain and get away with the murder. But old Enya didn’t know the court, nor the powerful nobles that resided there. This new version of her, the more polished queen, had to change her tactics. She had to proceed with caution, and acting like pre-queen Enya would only lead to disaster. She groaned, wishing she’d paid more attention to Balin. That old goat (as she lovingly called him) knew his way around highborn dwarves, taking advantage of his sweet demeanor and lying in their faces without batting an eye. She still didn’t understand how he did that, and she made a mental note to ask him one day. She passed the soldiers that guarded the entrance of the mighty dwarven kingdom and they bowed before her. Enya smiled at them, resisting the urge to decline her head. She understood why social hierarchy was so important, but on days like this she wanted to disappear behind the walls and be no one. There was no hallway she could cross without having to greet someone. Talking about tiresome. She rolled her eyes.

‘My queen.’ A soft feminine voice spoke behind her. Enya cringed and quickly turned around, ready to put on her haughty face when she saw her lady-in-waiting, Nin, smiling up at her. Her red locks were shining in the light of the torches, her pretty bluish-grey eyes sparkling with humor. Enya was grateful the title of lady-in-waiting had been given to Nin, because it meant she could keep her best friend close. And Nin was a gift from heaven. ‘God damnit, Nin!’ she exclaimed. ‘You scared me.’ ‘What are you wearing?’ Nin sniggered. ‘And where have you been? Thorin tried to find you all day, and he was not… pleased when I told him even I didn’t know where you was.’ Enya shot her friend a glance. ‘I’m your queen, you should bow before me and stop asking difficult questions.’ Nin grinned. ‘Oh, bollocks. You hate such formalities, and I don’t see anyone around here.’ She linked her arm with Enya’s and they strolled through the corridor towards the royal quarters. ‘If I may speak so freely…’ she continued and elegantly dodged Enya’s hand that tried to slap her. ‘You look stunning in those breeches, En. They hug you in all the right places…’ Enya giggled. ‘I think that’s exactly why Thorin insists me wearing a dress in court.’ Nin snorted. ‘Those modest dresses won’t make a difference. Even the noblest dwarves gawk at your pretty physique when you enter a room.’ ‘Oh, please.. tell him that!’ Enya begged. ‘Thorin is unbelievably stubborn about it.’ ‘Talking about that handsome subject…’ Nin began while they turned a corner. ‘Does the fact that you were missing all day having anything to do with a problem that starts with an E and ends with a N?’ ‘Don’t say it.’ Enya grumbled while clenching her fists. ‘I don’t wanna hear it. I. Will. Scorch. The. bitch.’ ‘I’m not stopping you.’ Her best friend confided. ‘She’s a brat and she deserves it for acting like that around Thorin.’

It had only been a few weeks since Enya sensed there was something wrong. A new dwarven family had shown up at court and Thorin allowed them to stay. They already blended in with the other nobles, but Enya didn’t like the way they seemed to change the atmosphere. The dams began to gossip, spreading ugly tales about others wherein no one was spared. To makes matters worse, she felt the distrust against mankind grow with the day. Which of course was completely unfair and unnecessary; Enya did her best to counter these accusations. But so far, it hadn’t been enough. Enya suspected the new noble family of conveying rumors, and especially a young dwarrowdam, called Elmilynn. She caught the filthy girl telling lies one time and kept an wary eye on her since then.

That’s when she noticed other things. She watched that bitch ogling HER husband a little bit too much during important gatherings. Or the dam bended a bit too close towards him when she had the delight of speaking directly with him. She laughed TOO loud at his jokes. That Elmilynn was trying way too hard and Thorin didn’t see it. He was treating her kindly, and Enya even caught him staring at her ass! Oh, she hated it. For all she could tell, he felt flattered and desired by the wench.

FLATTERED. DESIRED?

Motherfucking hell, she was going to kill him. He had no right to like, or watch any other female dwarf in that mountain but his queen. Oh, she could see right through that filthy little smug-faced girl! The little brat had decided to seduce the king, to persuade him in ditching his current queen. No doubt her family was behind her, some old-fashioned fools that liked to see all the old rules restored. Hatred against elves, men. Stricter rules for the women. They wanted back to that life of endless prosperity and power, the life that provoked a dragon to take their home. Enya scoffed. This queen wasn’t going down without a fight. She battled too viciously for all these changes, she loved her king too much to let this happen. She couldn’t fight with her fire this time, but she was ready to take another approach and roast Elmilynn and her whole family on a spit. She could wait, she was capable of keeping her head cool and-

‘GET BACK!’ The air was pushed out of Enya’s lungs when Nin suddenly pulled her back behind a statue. ‘What?!’ she grumbled. ‘Is master Runebelt in sight?’ Nin shook her head and motioned towards the other side of the corridor. Thank god, no master Runebelt. Enya liked the librarian, but the topics he redeemed interesting were enough to put her into sleep on the spot. She frowned and peered in the pointed direction.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

She pricked up her ears, trying to catch the conversation. ‘My king, what a coincidence I ran into you!’ Elmilynn chirped. ‘Yes, it is!’ Thorin replied. ‘I was about to retire to my chambers, but now while you’re here… I was thinking about what you said the other day-’ ‘You’ve got to be joking!’ Enya hissed while turning away. ‘I’m gonna KILL him, both of them! She just doesn’t stop! What did I miss, Nin? Are they involved?’ ‘No, my guess is that he’s being stupid and probably thinks she’s just friendly.’ Her friend tried. ‘Thorin cares too much about you to do this.’ ‘Does he?’ Enya questioned, while gesturing at the pair. ‘I don’t know anymore.’ ‘No, he’s just polite and-’ Nin began, but her face dropped when Enya slipped from their hiding place and walked into the hallway. ‘En, come back! You can’t…’ ‘Watch me.’ Enya groaned. ‘Talk to you later.’

Enya leaned casually against the wall and watched them nearing her, a single flame rising from her palm betraying how furious she actually was. Normally she would have teared them apart, but this situation needed tact. Everyone knew she was by no means an expert at that, but she could give it a try. ‘My queen.’ Thorin said when he noticed her, while giving her the I-have-been-looking-for-you-all-day-where-have-you-been-look. ‘Queen Enya.’ Elmilynn chirruped. ‘It’s so nice to see you again!’

‘Nice? Drop dead bitch.’ Enya’s mind scoffed.

‘Ah, my king. There you are.’ She said, ignoring her female subject. ‘Where have you been?’ Thorin inquired while eyeing her up and down. His pupils were slightly dilated, an clear sign of the fact that her appearance was distracting him. Ah, so far for avoiding the so-called lustful glances of his kin… Had she just found out the real reason why she couldn’t wear revealing clothing anymore? ‘Out.’ Enya replied matter-of-factly while studying her polished fingernails. She loved the bright red color on them. ‘I had things to do.’ Elmilynn shuffled awkwardly on her feet. Enya hoped she felt like a unwanted stranger, someone who didn’t belong here and she directed her gaze towards the young dam. ‘Oh, hi Elmilynn.’ She hummed, faking a smile. ‘I didn’t see you there… You have to forgive me, I had a long and tiresome day.’ ‘It’s nothing, my lady.’ ‘You don’t mind me taking back my husband, don’t you?’ Enya demanded in her queenly voice. ‘I was told he needs me.’ Elmilynn swallowed and bowed her head, but there was an indocile glare in her eyes. ‘Of course, my queen.’ She replied while turning away. ‘Forgive me for intruding, my king.’ ‘It was nothing…’ Thorin told the young dam. ‘We’ll continue our conversation tomorrow.’

‘Nothing? Tomorrow??’ Enya’s mind scolded. ‘You’re in big trouble, Oakenshield!’

‘Oh honey, wait a minute…’ Enya and walked up to the young surprised dam. She faced her directly, her fierce blue eyes boring into grey ones. ‘Nothing is worth my rage, trust me.’ She breathed. ‘Forget it.’ Elmilynn tilted her head, innocence displayed on her face. ‘I don’t what you’re talking about, my queen.’ ‘Oh, I think you do.’ Enya purred. ‘Head my warning. If you don’t back off right away, I’ll make sure you’ll suffer a great deal more than Smaug did. His death will seem merciful compared to your fate.’ Elmilynn scoffed. ‘We’ll see about that... We’ll see…’ Then she curtseyed shortly and disappeared behind the corner.

The door of their bedroom shut with a loud clank. ‘You are cruel.’ Thorin exclaimed. ‘Did you really think it was necessary to threaten that poor girl? She doesn’t deserve to be scolded by you like that!’ ‘Poor?’ Enya shot back. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t kill her on that very spot! I cannot stand there watch you FLIRT with that ignorant, little-’ She couldn’t even finish her sentence and let out an frustrated growl instead while throwing her hands in the air. ‘I don’t flirt with anyone but you.’ Thorin stated. ‘I don’t see what Elmilynn ever did to you for you to hate her so much.’ ‘Don’t you ever say that name.’ Enya hissed and shot him an ominous glare. She just couldn’t bear it, the name of that filthy dam rolling of his tongue like it was sacred. The bitch didn’t deserve something like that.

‘Wait, are you jealous of her?’ Thorin husked, his lips curving into a smile. ‘Is that what this is about?’ ‘As if.’ Enya huffed. ‘I’m a queen. The mere suggestion that I would feel threatened by that obnoxious… thing is repulsive.’ Thorin eyed her suspiciously and she knew he wasn’t buying it. Well, she didn’t even believe herself. The fact that she switched to her queenly voice, as Thorin liked to call it, said enough. ‘It’s a good thing your role as queen helps you to keep everything separated…’ Thorin mused. ‘It would be a shame if your emotions clouded your… judgement.’ ‘Oh, I hate you.’ Enya muttered angrily. ‘You do? I know I’ve been thinking about you all day...’ Thorin purred as his hands pulled her against him. His fingers traveled to her buttocks, kneading the soft flesh. ‘I got word you were looking for me.’ Enya told him, while her body writhed against him. His hands were distracting her from her fury and flared up a deep desire instead. ‘Yes, I was.’ Thorin replied, his lips dangerously close to hers. ‘Where have you been?’ ‘Bard’s.’ Enya whispered in his ear. If he could play the game, so could she. She knew she could make him jealous, if she pushed the right buttons… But Thorin wasn’t taking the bait. Instead he kissed her cheek, the rough facial hair scraping her skin. ‘So he had the pleasure to watch your cute ass move around him all day, while I got…’ he rumbled. ‘Nobles and boredom.’ His hands fumbled on her breeches. ‘And eager dwarrowdams.’ Enya huffed. ‘They all want you.’ ‘But why would I want those when I’ve got a beautiful queen by my side?’ Thorin murmured, his lips brushing over hers. ‘That doesn’t make sense, Blueheart.’ ‘Change of scenery.’ Enya opted. She licked her lips in anticipation when Thorin bent forward. ‘The thrill of…’ she stuttered. ‘Something new.’ ‘I find the thrill of having you a lot more satisfactorily…’ he breathed in her ear. ‘I don’t believe you.’ ‘Oh, mahal!’ Thorin growled. ‘You breathtaking, stubborn shrew!’

He surged forward and pulled her into a bruising kiss, his tongue intertwining with hers. Enya moaned into his mouth, passion swirling through her body and making her mad with desire. Her hands traveled down, struggling with the laces of his breeches. She slipped one hand inside, stroking him along his length. She wanted him, she needed him to show her how much he cared. Thorin groaned in response, his hips buckling forward. He hoisted her up and they crashed against his writing desk. ‘You can’t-’ she began and bit her lip when he wiped the desk clean with one swing of his arm. Inkpots and other writing materials clattered on the floor, the sound of it ringing in her ears. If no one had heard them quarrelling, they were aware of the situation now.

‘Apparently I can.’ He barked. ‘The thrill of something new…’ Before she could move, he pushed her down on the table and tore her pants from her body. The fabric made a protesting ripping sound as it came off and Thorin tossed it carelessly on the floor. ‘Those were expensive!’ she snarled as she shot up. ‘Who do you think you are, Oakenshield?’ Thorin smirked. ‘I’m a king. I’m sure I can persuade the tailor to make a new pair for you.’ ‘Arrogant asshole!’ She bickered. ‘It’s not like you allow me to WEAR THEM!’ Thorin clenched his jaw, his hands moving fast as he loosened his breeches some more, just enough to free his thick shaft from its confinement. Enya had no patience, she wanted him now! She wriggled in an attempt to free herself from her current position, but his strong hands pushed her down once more. A moan escaped from her lips when one of his fingers slipped into her heated core. Thorin groaned as her inner walls twitched around him. ‘Are you going to torture me?’ she quipped, tilting her head lightly. ‘No!’ Thorin snapped and positioned himself before her. Enya couldn’t help but admire his broad chest, the refined muscles on his abdomen, the thick dark trail of hair that grew towards his groin… He was a sight to behold. He managed to take her breath away, every single time. She didn’t even notice his fingers leaving her, but she did cry out as his entire length suddenly entered her in one go. Thorin looked down on her, his gaze burning through hers. His mouth was slightly open, his breathing somewhat unsteady. Enya’s cheeks flushed and a moan escaped her mouth as he started to pick up the pace, his rhythm hard and unforgiving. She wasn’t going to last long and he knew it.

Bastard.

‘You men are all the same!’ she bickered. It was hard to form words or to think while he took her like this, but she really didn’t want him to win this fight by simply fucking her senseless. ‘Are you really going to pick a fight about this?’ Thorin hissed, his hips slamming into hers. ‘Yes.’ She blurted out, biting her lip. Oh, he knew exactly how to drive her insane. She swallowed hard. ‘Damn right.. I am.’ ‘No.’ he rasped, closing his eyes while pleasure took hold of him. ‘Enya… don’t… just…’ ‘I’ve caught you staring at her ass NUMEROUS TIMES!’ Enya snapped, dragging her nails into his chest. ‘It’s HUMILIATING!’ ‘MAHAL, ENYA!’ he shouted. ‘STOP IT!’ ‘NEVER!’ she countered, but forgot what she wanted to say when he bit her collarbone. She threw her head back against the tabletop. Thorin was hovering over her, the heavy scent of his tobacco alluring her senses. He was everything she ever wanted, everything she ever desired. Her breath hitched, her body begging for its release. A fire pooled in her abdomen, flaring up with each stroke against the spot that made her see stars. Her body started to shiver when Thorin’s thumb grazed her clit. ‘Prove it.’ She moaned into his ear. ‘Oh god Thorin, prove it to me!’ ‘Yes!’ Thorin gasped. ‘Anything.’

Middle earth stopped spinning. The ground dissolved and waves of pleasure surged through her, sending her over the edge. Her body exploded, tuning out all senses, expect for the face of her one. Their eyes locked and Thorin growled desperately as her inner walls squeezed around him tightly, forcing him to follow her. ‘Enya!’ he murmured as his release claimed him, spilling his seed deep inside of her. He slumped against her and she listened as their ragged breathing slowed down. She caressed his long dark manes, her fingers traveling over the familiar patterns of his braids. Thorin heaved a sigh and kissed her gently. ‘I propose a bet, lasting four weeks.’ She breathed. ‘You have to last four weeks without any physical contact.’ ‘Any physical contact?’ Thorin asked, placing soft kisses in her neck. ‘Even you?’ ‘Yes. You can’t touch anyone, unless you have to during social occasions.’ Enya murmured. ‘And you can’t be near me either.’ ‘You think I won’t make it.’ Thorin said. ‘I don’t think your self-control is that strong.’ Enya dared. ‘I mean, all men are the same after all and it’s just a matter of time before their eyes start to wonder. Guys just can’t help yourselves, can they?’ Thorin narrowed his eyes. ‘I take the bet, if only to show you that weak flesh doesn’t exist in the line of Durin.’ ‘Think you can handle it?’ Enya inquired. ‘I know I will…’ Thorin rumbled. ‘I just wonder how you will cope, my queen. May I remind you that you’re as insatiable as I am?’ ‘I’ll be fine.’ Enya denied. ‘Then you don’t mind an additional rule…’ Thorin smirked and got up. ‘Surprise me.’ She purred, raising her legs and putting them on his shoulders. Thorin inhaled sharply, his blue eyes watching her intently. ‘You’re as tempting as ever, my queen.’ ‘Is that a problem?’ Enya giggled while tilting her head slightly. ‘It will be, for a few weeks.’ Thorin husked while leaving feather-light kisses on her feet. ‘Which brings me to our additional rule…’ A devious smile appeared on his lips. ‘Either of us are prohibited from pleasuring ourselves without the other being present.’

Gah! Frustrating dwarven king! He had just smashed her secret escape, her plan to survive those 28 days… It meant she had to suffer with him.

‘That surely sounds interesting.’ She replied, unwilling to admit that he cornered her. ‘When will the game begin?’ ‘Hmm…’ Thorin mused. ‘Let’s say midnight.’ Enya cocked a brow. ‘That’s at least five hours from now!’ ‘Exactly.’ He agreed. ‘It will give me plenty of time to ensure we’ll end up both satisfied for at least a few days.’ ‘A few days?’ she teased. ‘Is that even possible?’ ‘Well..’ Thorin told her while lifting her up in his arms again. ‘We can try…’

Let the games begin…

#thorin oakenshield x oc #Thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #Thorin Oakenshield x Enya Blueheart #Thorin imagine #Slow burn #Passionated smut afterwards #sorry about the smut #they did their own thing #while i cried in the corner

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hiraethstill · 6 years

Text

Matchmaker

This is an exchange fic I wrote for the lovely Dale. <3

Summary: Chris is always there to help his underclassmen and peers out with their slightly messy love lives.

Word Count: 7048

“You needed something, Jun?”

Chris pokes his head around the door, and steps fully inside when he sees that Isashiki is alone at his desk.

“Huh? Oh, yeah… Yeah. Come in.”

The other startles, as if he’s been zoning out, and Chris’s brows draw together a little in worry. “Are you alright?”

Isashiki looks around him as if checking to see that no one’s entered behind him, and nods, offering a grin. “You know that English essay that’s due tomorrow?”

Chris has to take a moment, and then remembers - it was supposed to be about a person who deserved to be admired, and he’d made it a point to finish it the day after it was assigned. He’s not completely sure if that’s the only thing his friend is worried about, though. “I do,” he says, pulling up a chair. “I’m guessing you left it until the last minute?”

Groaning, the other puts his head down on top of folded arms on the desk. “It’s not that I don’t know what to write about, it’s that I can’t express the idea in English.”

“You’re right, it is hard.” Thankfully, this is a problem Chris can deal with. English has never been a huge problem for him, having being raised by Jorge Animal, but he knows Isashiki and some of their fellow third years struggle with it even now.

“I’d be happy to help you,” he offers, patting his back comfortingly. “Do you have some ideas or drafts of what you wanted to write about?”

Isashiki nods and lifts his head to rummage through the papers on the desk. Chris notes the alarming amount of crossed out words on some pages and wonders if that’s part of his draft, but the other pushes those aside and picks up a couple pages with just a few words on each line.

“I could’ve made it easy and wrote about you or something,” Jun mutters. “But no… I had to get it all mixed up in my head.”

“Me?” Chris is genuinely curious, and lifts an eyebrow. “I’m not looking for someone to admire me enough to write about me.”

“But we all do!” Jun nearly glares at him. “We all respect you a hell of a lot, for good reason. Own up to it, already.” He stops and takes a deep breath. “Sorry.”

Chris smiles a little. “I’m flattered, really, but there’s nothing noteworthy about me that can’t be attributed to any of you.”

“You’re too modest.” Jun shakes his head, sighs a little. “But anyway, I decided to… Um.” There’s an internal struggle that Chris can see plainly on his face, and he waits patiently for him to sort himself out, hoping that his silent encouragement shows.

“I kinda… decided to write on Tetsu.” Immediately, he adds, “You know, ‘cause he was a damn good captain who inspired everyone on the team, among… other things.”

If Chris isn’t blind - which he isn’t - Jun almost seems shy about something. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the mention of a certain fellow third year of theirs is the primary cause.

He knows Jun well enough to know that he'll probably skirt around the problem, so he prompts gently, “Other things?”

“Hah?”

Chris might just have to try a subtler track, judging from the way he notes Jun’s shoulders trying to merge with his ears. “Well, if you want to get over the word count, you'll need to talk about the traits he has that make him admirable and inspiring, as well as examples to prove it.”

“Oh!” There’s a visible release of tension as his shoulders sink to an acceptable level again, and Chris inwardly breathes a sigh of relief. “Well… He’s dependable, for a start. If we’re talking specifically baseball, there’s just the immediate feeling of trust that ‘There’s our captain, all the hard work he puts in will shine through.’” Jun looks off to the side, pensive. “And of course, he’s got a cool head on his shoulders, always thinks things through before stepping up to the plate or giving advice or anything, leads through actions. There’s also the responsibility and accountability - he’s not afraid to shoulder and balance all the work he can handle, and knows his limits. Doesn’t commit to something unless he knows he can follow through, and always does.”

Chris has been taking notes in both English and Japanese the whole time, having pulled a blank sheet of paper toward him, but also mental notes. Every gesture and action is telling. The turn of his head, for starters, that seems to say if he doesn’t look directly at Chris, he can deny what he’s saying. The slight upward tilt of his mouth, gentle and almost fond. The near awe in his voice, and if Chris isn’t imagining it, a touch of regret.

Maybe Isashiki, with his loud, brash exterior and soft, modest, shoujo insides, needs a bit of a wake-up call, and a blunt one.

“So you have feelings for him.” It’s not a question.

The outburst is immediate and very, very telling. “What?! No, no. No. He’s…” His hands are a flurry of motion, trying to wave off any and all assertions. “He’s Tetsu,” he finishes weakly, and finally meets Chris’s eyes. Chris is unmoved, if only for Isashiki’s sake, and fails to keep his expression neutral, smiling a little knowingly.

“I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

“Not so.” Chris extends his arms with his notes toward him. “Maybe you should make two copies of your essay.”

“Huh? Why… oh.” He frowns incredulously at the former catcher. “That’s not going to work. Again, he’s Tetsu.”

“I think that no matter the outcome, you won’t regret talking to him,” Chris says firmly. “Or if it’s easier, writing down what you admire about him might help you sort things out. But it does have to do with him, so if he finds out he might ask to see it anyway. Better you go to him first, yes?”

Isashiki stares at him for all of three seconds. “I hate that you’re always right,” he finally mutters.

He chuckles. “You’re welcome, Jun.”

“Jun?” The door opens and Yuuki steps inside. “I lent you my - oh, hello, Chris. Am I interrupting?”

Isashiki hurriedly scrambles to gather all the papers into one pile and shoots Chris a panicked look. Chris isn’t about to be the mediator or intrude on a private conversation, but he’s not against giving them a push in the right direction.

He stands, shaking his head. “Not at all, I was just leaving.”

“No you’re not!” Isashiki’s voice comes out a little higher than normal, and he coughs and clears it. “I mean, Tetsu, your - Chris just - oh hell.”

Chris had just been about to clap him on the shoulder and tell him he’s ready and shouldn’t overthink it, but Isashiki stands by himself and storms toward a very bewildered Tetsu, grabbing his wrist and dragging him outside.

Well.

He smiles a little to himself, and waits a moment before exiting the room himself.

They’ll be alright.

It’s on a particularly warm day for the team when Chris first starts noticing the glances he’s getting, from a very unlikely source.

He can count the number of conversations he’s had with the younger Kominato on one hand, so it comes as a surprise when he joins Kataoka in the dugout and notices Haruichi looking at him from second base during fielding practice. Once he notices he’s caught Chris’s attention, however, he ducks his head and turns his focus back to the task at hand.

While it’s strange, Chris doesn’t give it much thought, carrying on his conversation with the coach about who he’s thinking of promoting from second string.

It happens again as he’s passing him in the hall at school. This time, Haruichi falters in his conversation with one of his classmates and his hand twitches, as if he can reach out to physically stop Chris as he walks past him.

Excusing himself from talking to Sakai and Tanba for a moment, he stops close to Haruichi. “May I help you in some way?”

The pink-haired boy shakes his head vigorously. “Ah, no! No, it’s alright, Chris-senpai. Thank you, though!” He bows deeply, and Chris blinks once, in confusion.

“Alright… Well, I’ll see you later, then.” He nods politely at him and moves back toward his companions.

“What was that about?” Sakai asks as they start again in the direction they were headed.

Chris frowns a little, shrugging. “I’m not sure. He seemed to want to ask me something, but changed his mind…”

“He was looking at you nervously before school too,” Tanba says, as if he’d just remembered. “I mean, you are attractive.”

That gives him pause. Could Haruichi be building himself up to a confession? He’s not honestly sure if he’s seen Haruichi act this way toward any of the other upperclassmen, at least, and might be holding back because he’s a third year with impending graduation.

Chris tries to put it out of his mind, and doesn’t notice anything until after practice a few days later.

He wants to see as much of his underclassmen’s growth as he can, so he tries to make it to several practices a week. He’s brought a textbook or two this time too, hoping to do at least some during whatever time he isn’t distracted.

“Chris-senpai?”

The voice is soft but strong, and he looks up at Haruichi, offering a smile and a polite nod in greeting. “Hello, Haruichi-kun. Did you need something?”

Haruichi’s obviously a little worn out from practice, still sweaty and fiddling with the glove on one of his hands. “Yes… I kind of need to talk to you, senpai. Could you stay for just a moment longer? I’ll try my best not to take up too much of your time. I know you’re busy.”

He shrugs and gestures to the spot on the bench next to him. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

“Well… not really. I’m sorry to come to you about this, but I thought you might have some good advice.”

Oh. Not a confession, then. He’d been mentally preparing himself to let him down gently just in case, but his chest loosens in relief as he lets out a breath.

“I’ll do my best,” he promises, glancing at his page number and closing the book. “Go ahead and explain.”

He hesitates a moment longer, fiddling with his glove, then starts slowly. “Well there’s… a certain someone. He’s not the most expressive person, but he’s kind, I can tell, and shows it in tiny ways that most people miss. And sometimes when the world is noisy and chaotic, he’s like a quiet moment, and always makes me feel comfortable.”

Chris thinks he knows where this is going, but lets him continue.

“I’m sorry if that’s a little personal, but I just…” He twists his hands with a little bit of anguish. “I really like him. But that’s all I know. I don’t know how to go on from there, or if I want to take that risk. I’m a little lost, I guess.”

He looks up at Chris, and his heart goes out to him. “Does he know?”

“No…” Haruichi bites down on his lip anxiously. “I - Well, I was planning to tell him, but I think… He’s always so focused on his pitching that I wouldn’t - I mean--” He cuts himself off, clenching his hands around his glove a little tighter.

Chris thinks of a certain young pitcher that puts his all into pitching, that has a long way to go in both pitching and people skills but a lot of potential. If memory serves him right, he recalls a time where a butterfly had landed on a baseball while both said pitcher and Haruichi were using the batting cages. The two youngsters had crouched around it, trying to cup their hands around it at the same time to protect it from the wind. He remembers that Haruichi had blushed and withdrawn his hands quickly, and how the other had looked up at him as the butterfly startled from the sudden movement. As it flew away, Furuya had said something which made Haruichi blush further.

There’s a few other instances where they’d seemed closer than he’d expected, but he’s never had to give it much thought until now. Still…

“I think you should go for it.”

Haruichi blinks in disbelief. “Really?”

He offers a smile in response. “I think you regret the things you don’t do more than the things you do and fail at.”

“That… makes sense,” the first-year says slowly, and his mouth goes a little slack-jawed in understanding as he nods. “Thank you so much, Chris-senpai.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he says. “Is that all you need?”

Haruichi jumps up from his seat, and bows deeply. “Ah, right! Sorry! I’ve probably kept you too long. Thanks for listening and for the great advice! I’ll see you soon!” He scurries off, likely for extra practice, before Chris can say anything else.

It only occurs to Chris before he goes to bed that it’s the second time he’s given advice about the heart. While he’s not adverse to it, he hasn’t exactly been in a relationship himself, so he wings it, though it’s not necessarily a bad thing, considering that he has confidence and a pretty good head on his shoulders.

Besides, if Jun and Tetsu’s thanks after the fact are anything to go by, he’s succeeded in helping people right? That’s all he could want.

Most of the third years still prefer to eat dinner with the team as often as they can, so that’s where Chris is headed right now, with Ryousuke and Masuko in tow. They’re a little late, but the cooks always have food for them, so they’re in no rush.

None of them are prepared for Sawamura, who comes barreling around the corner yelling at the top of his lungs. When he sees Chris, he changes course with bright eyes, but ends up colliding with Masuko instead, who stumbles a bit. He grips Sawamura’s arms and rights the both of them.

“Sawamura-chan… Why are you running?”

Sawamura yells something unintelligible and tries to get away just as another figure, namely Kuramochi, appears in hot pursuit of him. Chris feels more than sees Ryousuke shift beside him.

“Get the hell back here, Sawamu--” He cuts himself off as he sees them, skidding to a stop much too close to Ryousuke, so that they’re nearly chest to chest.

Chris wonders briefly if that’s on purpose when neither of them move for a moment. Then, Ryousuke’s default smirk widens a little, and he pushes Kuramochi’s chest away, causing him to take a step back to balance himself. “My, my, I didn’t know you were that desperate.”

“I’m not! I was - Sawamura - he - Gah!” It’s quite telling from how fast his face colors that there’s something else going on there. Chris doesn’t have time to dwell on it before he rushes on. “Anyway! Sorry, senpais, I’ll just uh, remove Sawamura for you.”

“Chris-senpai, save me!” Sawamura pleads, twisting so he’s between Chris and Masuko. “He’s gonna strangle me!”

Ryousuke clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Really now, Youichi. There are much better ways to kill someone.”

“Onii-san!” Sawamura looks on the verge of panic.

Chris really doesn’t know what’s going on right now, but he does know that he should step in before someone gets hurt, most likely Sawamura. “Alright, let’s settle down. No one is going to strangle Sawamura, or do anything else to hurt him. Or anyone. Please.”

“Thank you, Chris-senpai!” Sawamura practically clings to his arm.

“You’re right, we kind of need this loudmouth,” says a new voice, and Miyuki walks around the corner, yet another enigma in a growing list. His eyes seem to linger on the contact between Chris and Sawamura for a moment before flicking up to Chris’s face. “Thanks for that, Chris-senpai. I’ll make sure he gets through dinner alive.”

If Chris doesn’t know that Miyuki respects him perhaps the most, he would think it’s almost a challenge.

Sawamura’s already in his face about not needing a babysitter, but Miyuki just laughs and herds him back to the dining room. Chris notes that his arm stays draped over Sawamura’s shoulders. He also notes that while Sawamura shouts abuse at him the whole way, he never once shoves it off.

He doesn’t know when he’s started inadvertently noticing these things, but there they are, plain as day now that it’s been brought to his attention. Everyone on the team seems to have a favorite of some sort, but they’re all baseball idiots and most in the awkward stages of teenage hormones and maybe need a little bit of help. Briefly, he wonders if they’re together, but it’s not exactly his business either.

While watching the two of them, he hadn’t noticed Kuramochi’s scowl in their direction, but looks his way at the sound of his voice.

“Oblivious as hell,” he mutters.

It’s Ryousuke who voices Chris’s thoughts out loud. “Look at the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Ryou-san!” Kuramochi splutters. “I don’t like anybody!”

“Pity.” That’s his knowing smirk, hiding something as usual. “I would have enjoyed teasing you about them.”

Chris frowns a little, because there’s some sort of tension there that he’s never seen between the two. If he got paid for dissipating things like this, he might be able to afford a small car.

“Let’s go to dinner, shall we?” He sends a pointed look toward Ryousuke, who shrugs and brushes past Kuramochi.

“Join us, Kuramochi-chan,” Masuko says, and Chris sends him a silent thank you.

The shortstop still looks a little flustered, but manages a nod, falling into step on the other side of Masuko. Chris allows the relative silence until they enter the noisy crowd of the dining hall and find their usual spot.

He can sense that dinner would be silent among them as well had Sawamura and Miyuki not joined them, and the table is soon filled with chatter and banter between the two of them and Kuramochi, occasionally joined by Masuko.

Miyuki and Ryousuke are rather alike, he thinks as he looks between them. Both of them skirt around the obvious, repress their own wants and desires in an almost masochistic fashion, replacing them with smirks and wiles. He might not be a mind-reader, but he’s gotten to know the both of them over the years, and he kind of wishes two other people at this table knew as much as he did. Perhaps he’ll pay their room a visit later.

It doesn’t come to mind again after dinner until he finally pushes his textbooks and computer aside. The more he thinks about it, the more he’s convinced that maybe some intervention is needed.

As he’d thought earlier, Sawamura and Kuramochi might be a good start.

So here he is, standing in front of their door, about to knock when he hears Sawamura’s loud protests coming from within. He’s never seen Kuramochi use his wrestling moves on Sawamura in person, but that’s clearly what’s going on, and maybe he should break that up, too.

But it stops after a moment and Kuramochi’s voice floats through the door.

“At least the tanuki bastard’s somewhat obvious about it.”

There’s a thump and grumbling that sounds like Sawamura. “Obvious how? I know he doesn’t like me!”

That’s where he’s wrong, so Chris finally snaps out of it and knocks, resigning himself to his matchmaking fate once again.

“Coming!” He hears the sound of running feet, and Sawamura throws open the door, gasping a little. “Chris-senpai! What brings you here? Come in!”

In his head, Chris wonders at Miyuki’s willpower, because really, even if he holds no feelings of attraction toward Sawamura himself, who can resist that grin of his? He smiles as he steps through the doorway out of reflex. Kuramochi blanches a little, but nods politely, even if there’s a moment of - is that guilt? - that crosses his face.

He exhales and gestures toward the empty desk chair. “May I sit? I was thinking I should probably talk to the both of you.”

It’s almost uncanny how a flash of fear manifests on both of their faces, but they both nod. “Uh, sure, Chris-senpai,” Kuramochi says, gesturing toward the chair. Sawamura even sits in a near-perfect seiza on the floor in front of him, while Kuramochi opts for the closest bed.

Chris decides to be blunt, since he knows that will reach Sawamura the best, and Kuramochi will appreciate it.

“I know it’s not exactly my place, but… It’s about Miyuki. And Ryousuke.” He looks at them each in turn. “If you want to stop me there, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Miyuki as in Miyuki Kazuya?” Sawamura practically gapes. “W-what about him?”

Kuramochi’s face flickers with uneasiness before he seems to come to some sort of resolve. “If this is about apologizing for almost running into Ryou-san earlier, I already did.” But his eyes say that he knows both he and Chris know that’s not it.

“Well… I should probably ask this first - do you both have feelings for them? Of course, if you don’t want to answer, I can’t do anything about that and I’m sorry for intruding.”

He fully expects Sawamura to splutter and deny everything, and insist that no, he doesn’t have any sort of anything toward Miyuki Kazuya, and never will. He also expects something similar but on a lower scale from Kuramochi.

But the both of them are silent, looking in opposite directions.

It’s Kuramochi who speaks up first. “I guess I was kinda obvious, especially today,” he says carefully, and crosses his arms with a sigh.

“He’s problematic, but he… yeah.” Sawamura stares determinedly at the ground, as if trying to bore a hole into the carpet.

Well.

It seems to Chris that they both know about each other’s feelings too, judging by how they don’t make fun of each other and the conversation he’d heard through the door before he’d come him. “It’s a problem for both of you, huh…”

“Tch.” Kuramochi clicks his tongue and lets his head loll back to look at the ceiling. “Problem is an understatement. Ryou-san is… well, Ryou-san. Even if he did like me, he’s not going to show it, but he’s also not afraid to string me along.”

Chris wonders if something had happened between them, and is about to ask, but Sawamura speaks up. “Miyuki-senpai’s the same,” he says, quiet for him. “But I just have no idea.”

“Ryousuke’s stringing you along?” he asks first. “Has he done anything specific or…”

“He kissed me,” Kuramochi blurts, then looks like he wants to take it back. “This morning,” he continues instead. “But he said it doesn’t mean anything, that he’s just testing the waters.” He looks up at Chris, and there’s the expectation of being judged there.

Chris is going to have words with Ryousuke later.

“You didn’t tell me that!” Sawamura says, glancing up in alarm. “Are you sure onii-san doesn’t like you if he did that?”

Kuramochi shrugs. “Who knows? I sure as hell don’t.”

He knows that struggle, all right. As much as Ryousuke is less of an enigma to their year, he always has his fair share of tricks and secrets up his sleeve. He thinks Ryousuke should know that Kuramochi deserves more than that, but apparently not.

It’s either that, or he’s scared of something.

“What about you, Sawamura?” he asks. Miyuki might be a little like Ryousuke, but he doubts the catcher would lead him on without interest of his own.

Sawamura shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know… I can’t tell!”

“He’s gone for you,” Kuramochi scoffs. “Trust me. You’ll walk into the room and he just zeroes in on you like a homing beacon.”

“No he doesn’t!”

Chris tries to think back to all the times he’s seen Miyuki and Sawamura interact, and he has to admit that as much as Miyuki is particular about giving fair and equal treatment to everyone he works with, Sawamura’s an odd one out.

“With Miyuki, it’s probably better to lay it all out on the table,” he says carefully. “Or if you’d like me to talk to him, I’d be happy to.”

“He listens to you, right Chris-senpai?” By now, Sawamura’s chewing on his lower lip. “So maybe? Please?”

Kuramochi lifts two fingers, drawing his attention. “If you’re doing that, could you also do me a solid and talk to Ryou-san too? I just want to know I’m not going in cold-turkey with no chance of success.”

Looking between them, Chris is actually a bit worried. It’s unsettling, almost, how subdued they both are, when they’re usually some of the most boisterous underclassmen he’s worked with. He doesn’t have the heart to refuse them, especially when they look at him like he might be their last hope.

“Alright,” he relents. “But I can’t guarantee that something will come out of it.”

“Chris-senpai, you’re the best!” Sawamura launches himself forward to place his hands on Chris’s knees, grinning up at him. Kuramochi nods his agreement from the bed.

“We owe you,” the shortstop says, sticking his leg out to kick Sawamura, who yelps and falls over to the side.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Chris says firmly, and slowly gets to his feet. “I’ll do my best, then. Hopefully I’ll see you later.”

The daunting pressure of the task looms over him as he makes his way back to his room.

Miyuki’s a better first bet, so he waits by his room after practice, pulling his coat more tightly around him to stave off the oncoming chill.

“Chris-senpai?”

It seems Miyuki notices him before he does the other, and he looks up. His glasses glint softly in fluorescent lights of the corridor.

“Hello, Miyuki,” he says, trying to stay nonchalant. “Do you have a moment?”

“Uh yeah, sure.” Miyuki opens the door to his room, stepping neatly around him to go inside in a silent invitation to follow. “Did you need something?”

Chris shuts the door gently behind him and sits in the desk chair, gesturing toward the bed. The younger slowly sits and crosses his legs.

“This is about Sawamura,” he says, not cutting corners, and carefully notes the the twitch of Miyuki’s eyebrows. “I want to be completely blunt with you, and I hope you’ll return the favor.”

Miyuki nods, equally slow, and regards him almost warily. It’s all firm lines in his face and jawline, as he’s restraining himself from something. “Okay,” is all he says, and Chris will have to take that for now.

“I talked to him earlier, and he…” He’s suddenly a little unsure, because even if he was asked to do this, and they’re in private, it feels a little meddlesome, and contrary to what some of his underclassmen might think, he really doesn’t have all the answers. “Well, to put it bluntly, he likes you. Maybe I’m reading the situation wrong, but I think you might like it if you two were something more as well.”

Whereas before Miyuki’s face gave it away, he’s cultivated it into a carefully neutral expression, forcibly relaxing himself. Chris tries to pick apart the thoughts behind those nearly square frames, but Miyuki’s poker face is almost as good as Ryousuke’s.

“Chris-senpai,” he says. “You asked me to be blunt, so here it is. Sawamura deserves better.”

Out of all the things Chris expects him to say, it’s not as surprising as he’d thought it would be.

“I think you should leave that up to him,” he says gently. “If he decides that you are what he wants, then he’ll most likely be stubborn about chasing and keeping you.”

He laughs, and Chris thinks there’s a touch of regret there. “He’ll learn, then. I’m not exactly… Well. He’ll learn.”

And it’s unfair of him to do that to himself and Sawamura, because Miyuki can if he tries, but he’s not allowing himself to. “Are you only worried about not being able to be what he wants? Because I think he already knows what he wants, and thinks you can provide that.”

He looks up, directly at Chris, deliberating for a moment, then another. “You really think I could keep him happy.” There’s the vague lilt at the end of his phrase that suggests a question.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? Maybe you’ll find that Sawamura makes you want to try, just as with so many people.” While they’re being blunt, he adds, “If you wait too long…”

Miyuki squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, then exhales, opening them slowly. Chris can’t pretend to read him in that moment, but Miyuki solves that problem for him.

“Alright. I will try.”

“You’re sure,” he says, feeling his chest loosen. “You know, you’re probably in the best position to make him happy anyway.” Not only does Sawamura like him, but he encompasses baseball and school and other things that Sawamura likes.

“Yeah…” The younger looks at his hands for a moment. “Yeah.” There’s some sort of resolve there, and Chris feels a little validated, and less like he was pushing him this entire time.

“That being said, as a sort of mentor to Sawamura, I have to warn you that if you do anything to hurt him, you’ll likely have all of my year after you. Including Ryousuke.”

Thankfully, that gets Miyuki to laugh, albeit somewhat nervously.

“I know.”

Chris feels marginally lighter as he makes his way to Ryousuke’s room. Miyuki had been a precursor to what he might face with the elder Kominato, and although his fellow third-year is a force to be reckoned with, he doubts that he has to worry too much about their coming conversation and what might result from it.

That’s before he gets to the corridor outside his room.

Ryousuke himself is leaning as casually as can be against the doorframe, pointedly crossing his arms as if to put distance between himself and Kuramochi. The younger seems agitated, and Chris can’t discern what he’s saying, but all traces of Ryousuke’s patented smirk are gone from his face, even though he appears calm.

He’s even closer before he knows it, just in time to catch Ryousuke saying, “It’s for the best, Youichi. I already know he’s catching up.”

Chris slows and stills. They haven’t noticed him yet, and he feels as though he’s intruding a little bit, but he’s never heard Ryousuke talk so plainly with someone. He’s also glad he decided to stop when Kuramochi grabs the front of Ryousuke’s shirt in both fists, clearly livid.

“Listen, Ryou-san,” he growls, nearly nose-to-nose with him at the moment. “If you think that way, you’ve already lost. I get that you feel threatened by him already, but you've got years of experience and skill on your shoulders. Shouldn't that, oh, I don't know, count for something? Shouldn't you continue to play because you want to?!? To hell with what everyone else thinks. You play your own baseball.”

He pauses, chest rising and falling. His next words break in the middle.

"And what about me, huh? I want to join you again, and remain your partner."

Ryousuke does nothing for a moment, lets their breathing mingle, move in tandem. Chris can palpably feel the silence, thick and oppressive with the weight of expectations and crushing disappointment. When he speaks, his voice is steely, calm. "Let go of me, Youichi."

Maybe it’s some innate reflex, but Kuramochi only grips his shirt tighter. “I can’t.” It sounds as though he’s scared to, like if he does let go, Ryousuke will slip through his fingers like smoke or sand.

The elder slowly pries Kuramochi’s hands off of him as he turns to walk away, but the shortstop is persistent, turning him around and grabbing his wrist. Ryousuke’s reflexes kick in and the reaction is immediate. He grabs the outside of his wrist and pushes down on his arm to force him to his knees, then grabs his hand and uses the momentum to twist him to the ground.

Chris mobilizes himself then. “Ryousuke,” he calls, hurrying over. “Please let go of him.”

Ryousuke turns his face toward him, making some sort of assessment, and surprisingly complies. He makes no move to help Kuramochi up, but that doesn’t deter the younger, as he’s already scrambling up, shaking out his arm. Quickly, Kuramochi gives Chris a look in passing that seems to ask for strength before blurting, “Can’t you see how much I like you, Ryou-san?”

That gives the elder Kominato pause, quite literally as his entire body stills.

Chris isn’t completely sure that he should be there in the moment, but he has to support his underclassman in his endeavors, especially after that panicked look. Still, he waits a minute for Ryousuke to say something.

He doesn’t for a long moment.

Chris is about to step in, and he can see Kuramochi opening his mouth when he finally speaks. “I’m graduating. I’m quitting baseball. You’re not supposed to want to return anything.”

There’s a surprising amount of anger simmering in Chris’s chest. It’s the same story as with Miyuki, then - essentially being a masochist. “Ryousuke, think about it. You’re good at separating facts and frames, so use it now.”

“So you really don’t… That wasn’t real, then?” Kuramochi’s voice is strained, and his heart goes out to him.

That’s what finally causes Ryousuke to snap. He whirls, balling his own fists in Kuramochi’s shirt as if returning the favor, eyes bright and blazing. “You idiot. I thought you could read me, of all people. Just for fun? Read between the lines, Youichi. None of this has been for fun.”

He actually doesn’t know what either of them are referring to now, but Kuramochi seems to get it, eyes wide. Then, slowly, inexplicably, he grins. It’s rather incredulous, but it’s there, and he huffs out a laugh as well.

“Ryou-san, if all that was… Can I kiss you?”

Ryousuke’s fists are looser now, and he studies Kuramochi’s face, brings his own a little closer. Chris is a little uncomfortable, to be honest, but he doesn’t think to look away.

“No.”

Ryousuke lets him go, and he stumbles, apparently having let the other support some of his weight. “What - Ryou-san?”

“You have to earn it first, after making me wait. And we’re not going to feed Chris’s apparent voyeur kink.”

“My - Ryousuke!” Chris splutters as Kuramochi doubles over in laughter. Looking at Kuramochi, though, he doesn’t mind so much, because even though his laughter is a little too loud and long, it’s from relief. The source of the slow flush in his cheeks is unmistakable.

“Love you too, Chris,” Ryousuke smirks, and unashamedly reaches one arm around Kuramochi’s waist, inserting his hand into the pocket on his opposite side. “Not quite as much as Youichi, though.”

The younger’s blush is quite impressive, he must say. But still, Kuramochi manages to send Chris an extremely grateful look. “Thank you, Chris-senpai…”

“I didn’t do much, really,” Chris says, smiling a little at him.

“Nonsense, he doesn’t deserve the credit,” Ryousuke smirks. “Don’t baby him, Chris.”

Kuramochi starts to argue, but Chris beats him to it, putting up his hands in protest. “I really didn’t do much. But you should have seen him when I went to talk about all this with him and Sawamura…”

Groaning, the younger buries his face in his hands. “Are all my senpais just out to get me?”

“Only I’m allowed to,” Ryousuke says cheerily. “Speaking of which, we have unfinished business, Youichi.”

Kuramochi yelps as he’s picked up bodily and thrown over Ryousuke’s shoulder and awkwardly waves at Chris as they move down the hall to who knows where.

The breeze blows through the window, caressing his face and calling him outside along with the afternoon sunlight streaming in.

Chris finds himself constantly turning to the window, always feeling like something’s missing. The thing is, he knows what it is.

“You’re doing it again,” says a soft but chiding voice, and he turns his attention back to Tanba, who’s sitting next to him at the low table.

“I am.” He sighs and looks forlornly at his work. What’s the point of it all, really, if he can’t also be involved in something he loves? “But we could just… stop in for a moment.”

Tanba looks uncertainly at Masuko across the table. “Do you want to, Toru?”

Masuko grunts a little, putting down his pen and looking between Chris and Tanba hopefully. “Sawamura-chan is probably improving fast.”

That does it for Tanba, and he shrugs. “Might as well, then.”

It doesn’t take long for them to all pack up their things and head out to the field, shouts and the sound of the ball hitting various things guiding them. Chris shoves his hands into his coat pockets, breathing in the sounds and the promise of baseball. He wishes he was in uniform himself, heading over to play with them instead of just be an observer, but his shoulder isn’t healed yet, among other things.

He’s so lost in thought that he nearly bumps into Tanba as they near the fence and the entrance to the dugout. “Sorry, sorry. You alright?”

Tanba doesn’t reply, and he lifts his head to look in the same direction as he is.

In the center of the field, there’s Sawamura, standing on the mound in front of Miyuki, with his hands on his hips and his voice clearly audible from where the three of them are. Chris hadn’t been listening to the first part of his speech, but he’s in time to catch what’s probably the most important part.

“...And so, Miyuki Kazuya, you don’t have anything to apologize for! I never wanna hear an apology outta you ever again, you hear? I mean about things like this!”

He goes on in a seemingly angry tirade well within earshot of the entire team while Miyuki stands there, dumbfounded and speechless for once in his life - something about having waited for the catcher to suck it up and tell him already for the longest time, and how Harucchi noticed anyway so it was obvious after that, and his cheeks are slowly growing redder even if his voice is steady in volume.

Chris can’t help it - he’s grinning. Next to him, Masuko wipes his eyes hurriedly. “Is this… what I think it is? Is Sawamura-chan finally showing him what true guts are?”

“Good god,” Tanba says, and that’s about as much answer as Masuko gets, and more than enough.

Sawamura still hasn’t stopped, either. “I told you this before, and I’ll tell you again, Miyuki Kazuya! None of your nasty little bastard remarks or habits are gonna make me back down, okay? I like you means I like you, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of about that! So here!”

Chris is expecting it when Sawamura yanks Miyuki’s chin down into a kiss, and he misses his mouth, but it’s there for everyone to see, a kiss right in the center of the field, with everyone’s cheers suddenly deafening in his ears.

Everyone’s rushing toward them now, hearty slaps on the back and kicks to the butt from certain upperclassmen greeting the couple on the mound, of which both are blushing and Sawamura is grinning. Chris himself hurries toward them, heart full and happy to see them so clearly looking out for each other and Sawamura especially so happy after that other day in his room.

“Chris-senpai!” Speaking of Sawamura, he’s waving both arms at him now. “Ace-sama, Masuko-senpai! I didn’t know you were here!”

“Ace-sama?” Tanba murmurs, and Chris simply chuckles before reaching out to ruffle Sawamura’s hair.

“I take it you both are together now?” he asks with a gentle smile.

Miyuki turns from where he’s being verbally abused by Kuramochi to grin a bit sheepishly at him. “I, er, took your advice…” His smile softens a little when he glances at Sawamura, whose dying blush becomes even more prominent than before.

“I’m happy for you both,” he says sincerely.

“You have to treat Sawamura-chan right,” Masuko says gravely. “Or I’m afraid I’ll have to use Ryousuke on you.”

“What about me?” Ryousuke’s voice, even in his light lilting tone, carries over the whoops of many others from beside Chris, who jumps.

“Onii-san! When did you get here?” Sawamura launches himself at Ryousuke, who actually lets him cling to his neck a moment before gently pushing him off.

“You’ll never know,” he says mysteriously. “If we’re passing out kisses, though, I’m here for a particular shortstop.”

With that, he easily catches Kuramochi by the shoulders and tugs him down into a kiss, drawing more cheers from the team and a “Get it, Kuramochi!” from some of them, coupled with whistles and hoots.

“What?!” Sawamura nearly screeches. “Kuramochi-senpai and Onii-san?!”

“You haven’t seen them ogling each other constantly?” Miyuki laughs.

He frowns and looks between Miyuki and Chris. “Well, now that you mention it, there was this one time in the baths when--”

“And I think that’s quite enough,” Miyuki says cheerily, hooking an arm around his shoulders. “There’s still practice to do.”

The cheers are dying out now as the coach himself comes over to see what all the commotion is all about.

“Well,” Kataoka says, looking around at all the grinning faces. “None of you are going to be able to focus in conditions like this, are you.” It’s more of a statement than a question. “Practice for the rest of the day is not mandatory.”

There’s protests from a few, but Chris is surprised to see that even Sawamura, who would normally be enthusiastic about more baseball, links an arm with Miyuki and gives the brightest grin yet. He can see Ryousuke linking his arms around Kuramochi’s neck, and in the distance Haruichi and Furuya linking pinkies by the far fence as well as Isashiki with his elbow on Yuuki’s shoulder near the dugout.

“You really enjoy being matchmaker for all your little ducklings, huh?” Tanba gives him a wry smile.

His heart is full, and he can’t disagree.

#juntetsu #furuharu #misawa #kuraryou #chris yuu takigawa #daiya no ace #diamond no ace #ace of diamond #im really proud of this

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deincs-main · 6 years

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CHARACTER INTERVIEW

BASICS !

NAME: Harleen Quinzel, Dr.

NICKNAME: Harley Quinn

AGE: 31/32/33? ish?

SPECIES: Human

PERSONAL !

MORALITY: lawful / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

RELIGION: spiritual / neutral (she got sent to hell once. she got better.) / no faith / questioning

SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath

VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice

KNOWN LANGUAGES: English. (part of me wants to say French, but idk why.)

SECRETS: Harley? Secrets? NAH.

PHYSICAL !

BUILD: scrawny / bony / slender / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average.

HEIGHT: 5′7

SCARS / BIRTHMARKS: does bleached skin count? (also yes to the scars thing. she’s a sometimes super-villain, sometimes anti-hero. she definitely has them. unless she lost them when her body got remade after she died. because she did get exploded once. that whole hell thing.)

ABILITIES / POWERS: immune to poison, enhanced strength, enhanced agility, enhanced healing (THANKS IVY FOR ALL OF THOSE)

RESTRICTIONS: you wanna try restricting harley?

FAVORITES!

FOOD: coney island hot dogs although at this point she’s had so many from living there that she should switch it to something like popcorn or pizza or, ugh, not the salad stuff that ivy gets but something super meaty like a chili dog or a chili burger or bacon just a lot of bacon but then she’d end up back to her one true love: the coney island hot dog.

DRINK: yes. uh. is this not a yes or no question? because if you want her to go through a list of all the drinks she likes--

PIZZA TOPPING: EVERYTHING. SHE WANTS ONE WITH ALL THE TOPPINGS. ALL OF THEM. and no she does not mean a supreme or a veggie supreme (she wants her meat, sorry) because those only have like four or five or six of that sometimes, like, thirty toppings, and she wants ALL of them. at once. on one pizza. and all the sauces. and then put another pizza on top of it and make it a sandwich. and then cover it in hot sauce. and maybe mashed potatoes, but that feels a little bit like going too far. is there such a thing as too far with pizza? and yes she does mean include the chocolate sauce and the dessert toppings who do you think she is, batman?

COLOR: G R E E N.

MUSIC GENRE: Country. because it’ll probably annoy most of the people who are around her. and she likes watching how people react to it. (if she’s listening to it, probably more rock. some screamo. give her something to bang her head and destroy things to, and she’ll probably like it. or clown music. please don’t give her clown music.)

BOOK GENRE: COMIC BOOKS. she reads her own, don’t ya know. she has a huge collection of first editions. and by has, i mean she probably stole them. probably. she’s not old enough to have bought them herself. or if she bought them, it was with stolen cash. there’s stealing involved somewhere.

MOVIE GENRE: comedy. horror. a mix of the two. tucker and dale vs. evil.

CURSE WORD: shitfucking cockerdoodie. it’s less about favorite words and more about combining them in new and innovative ways and it’s fun to use kiddie bad words sometimes.

SCENTS: gasoline. fireworks. bombs. ivy. because ivy always smells like earth and floral but still very distinctively her.

FUN STUFF !

BOTTOM OR TOP: switch. comics have shown her potentially topping ivy. but i think she doesn’t care about that so long as it’s fun.

SINGS IN THE SHOWER: yes. loud. horrendous. plug your ears. it’s a lot of yelling and screaming and her voice cracks because it’s not meant to be that loud without some sort of vocal warm-up and that doesn’t mean do the warm-up in the shower that means stop, harley.

LIKES PUNS: OF COURSE.

tagged by: @bitofthisandthat tagging: nope i did the tagging when i posted luisa’s.

#[ the fun in dysfunctional: deviations ]

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arabellaflynn · 6 years

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One of the more amusing family stories I sometimes tell is about a relative of mine, a few generations back, who moved in with another man after his wife died. Ooh, everybody goes. Salacious family gossip! Except the little town they moved to was actually Lily Dale Assembly, in upstate New York, which so far as I know is still one of the oldest continually running Spiritualist communes in the United States. Harry and Edward moved up there so that Edward, ex-model and former elder in the Presbyterian church, could start on what I think was his third career as a spirit medium. He channeled the spirit of an Edwardian actress named Lillie Langtry, also known as "the Jersey Rose". At this point, the whole 'shacked up with his boyfriend' thing has become the least interesting part of the story, and people begin to look at me funny. My parents fucked things up in many respects, several of them so egregious that I haven't spoken to them in years, but I want to give credit where credit is due. They never sat us down to have a talk about how some boys like boys and some girls like girls, and they were all people just like anyone else. It was stupidly obvious. My mother talked about "Harry and Edward" in the same tone she used for "Aunt Helen and Uncle Bob". Except friendlier, as Uncle Bob was known to be a lecher who eyeballed the teenage cousins, and we mysteriously saw a lot less of him after I was about twelve. I was probably in college -- so, old enough for my own friends to start coming out -- before I thought about it long enough to realize how unusual this was. There are a lot of families where I never would have heard about Harry, because they would have disavowed any knowledge of his existence as soon as they found out about his "friend". Tracing LGBT+ relatives can be tricky. They tend to lack a lot of paperwork that straight couples would have. Not just legit marriage certificates -- which don't always exist -- but a lot of other records that are predicated on the assumption that there is a marriage certificate, somewhere. Fifty years ago, John Doe and Roberta Roe could move halfway across the country together and apply for an apartment as "Mr. and Mrs. John Doe", and nobody would ever check. The only way to get that information, pre-internet, was to find out where the marriage would have been officiated, write to the appropriate county clerk (with a processing fee enclosed), and wait 4-6 weeks to see if you got an illegible photocopy or a 'no such file exists' form letter back. No landlord was going to do that. They'd look at you, make a snap judgement on whether you were likely to grow forty tons of weed in their rental property, and ask if you had first, last, and deposit. After you have a lease as "John and Roberta Doe", you can start getting utility bills, phone lines, library cards, checking accounts, even state IDs, depending on where (and when) you were. My own parents are a good example of how this works. My mother used her maiden name right up until she was lying in a hospital bed with a newborn (me), and the nuns filing the paperwork were confused by the concept of putting a different surname down for mother and child. My mother, who was understandably short on patience, finally relented and told them to use Dad's name for everybody. (In her words, "I was afraid they were gonna lose you.") They weren't legally married until I was three, and they only did it because we had moved from Little Canada to a state that even today spits in the face of social progress, and Dad's new health insurance wouldn't otherwise have covered anybody else. Mind you, my college FAFSA papers said they'd been filing taxes as married since 1978. My mother was never one to let a little thing like federal tax law prevent her from doing as she damn well pleased. In Harry and Edward's case, we do have some documentation: Harry wrote memoirs. My mother had a copy, and I've read it. They're mostly about the spirit medium stuff, but there's a fair bit about life as well, and they were hilariously domestic. You would have to engage in mental gymnastics of a phenomenal order to read the two of them as anything but a couple. I seem to recall Harry's daughter either writing to or visiting them in Lily Dale; according to the family, she was mainly just happy her father had settled down with someone who could cook, so he'd stop living on scrambled eggs and spaghetti. I've had no luck so far finding a copy of my own. Partly because it was privately published by someone who evidently went out of business 30+ years ago, but mostly because I didn't have any full names for anybody. The family has only ever referred to Harry as "Uncle Doc Harry". He wasn't a doctor of anything, but he did have an MSW, and for that time and that branch of the family, that was a pretty high-falutin' education. I'm still not sure if he was my great-uncle or my great-great-uncle. My grandfather was from a gigantic Irish Catholic farm family, where there were so many kids with such a range of ages that the eldest grandkids used to babysit their youngest aunts and uncles. It was without a great deal of hope that I prodded the Lily Dale Assembly at about 2 am one night, via their Facebook page. Yes, they have a Facebook page. Of course they have a Facebook page. Another thing you have to consider when nosing around after your queer kin is how to frame it. Somewhere conservative, I probably would have inquired after Harry, mentioning at some point that he used to share a house with someone named Edward. The Assembly, though? The Spiritualists are justifiably proud of their history of being early adopters of things like women's suffrage, feminism, and universal civil rights. They attract a lot of weirdos because they treat the weirdos like valid human beings. I was asking after people who would still be in the living memory of older residents, and a town like Lily Dale would have remembered them as the boring middle-aged married couple. So I just asked about my relatives, plural, Harry and Edward, and mentioned the ghost actress, figuring it would have been pretty unique even for a place like that. I expected to get a teenage intern, who had no idea what I was talking about, but could at least give me some way to get in contact with the town registrar or whatever a Spiritualist commune has. No. Oh, no. Whoever was answering their messages knew exactly who I was talking about, because they used to live across the street. Not only told me where the two of them went, but described the house they bought when they moved out of town in the early '90s. What the actual fuck. Thus armed with useful things like surnames, I went off to Google some more. I still haven't had any luck finding the book; when I first read it, online shopping was already a thing, and I found it eerie as hell to be physically holding a book that had no listing on Amazon. It has an AISN now, as someone evidently sold a signed copy on Amazon once, but no ISBN, and therefore no WorldCat entry. If it exists in any library I can get to, I'm not sure I have any way to ask for it. I can't find their obituaries, either -- my guess is they ran in the newspaper of the small town they lived in after Lily Dale, but the online archives have a big gap between 1989, when their microfiche scans end, and the 2000s, when someone bothered building them a website. If they have headstones, nobody's taken pictures of them for FindAGrave.com. I threw their names at Spokeo and WhitePages and the like, to see if whoever survived longest had moved elsewhere to be with other family, and made an interesting discovery. Directories like that scrape data from other places. Mailing lists, public records, that sort of thing. Most people have at least one "AKA" listing, where they did or didn't use their middle initial for something, or went by Kathy instead of Katherine. Harry seems to have really been Harry, never Harold, which fits with the family naming habits. I did dig up a middle name, and it does tally with the one on the picture of the book cover on Amazon out-of-stock listing, so at least I know I'm tracking the right guy. So far as I can tell from his AKAs, Edward never went by Ed or Eddie -- but he did, at some point in his life, go by Harry's surname. It's exactly the sort of middle finger to convention I would expect from any relative of mine, really. Fuck you, mainstream society, we're married. One of the places it's noted is on a profile for one of the ancestry services that says it was created and maintained by his brother, so at least some of his family seems to have treated them the same way Harry's did. It actually makes me wonder if they had some sort of commitment ceremony at some point. (Beyond signing a joint mortgage on at least one house, I mean. Those are way harder to get out of than a marriage.) There wouldn't be any records filed with the State of New York -- although there's always the chance they were smart enough to file legal papers giving power of attorney and leaving their estate to the other one -- but if it happened in Lily Dale, the Assembly might have noted it. from Blogger https://ift.tt/2zVc9Bw via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!

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